


What'd I Miss?

by incessant



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Politics, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Enemies to Lovers, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-10 16:03:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 33,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6992668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incessant/pseuds/incessant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"Ask the secretary out, son. It’s really that simple.”</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Alex gapes at the president. He can’t tell if he wants to laugh or scream.</em>
  <br/>
  <em>In what world is that simple?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>After a drunken one night stand, Secretary of Treasury Alexander Hamilton and Secretary of State Thomas Jefferson find themselves wrapped up in America’s latest political scandal. With Hamilton’s reputation as a notorious flirt and the White House desperate to avoid any more bad publicity, President Washington tells them to pretend to date until they can stage a believable breakup. It’s only supposed to be a few weeks.</p><p>Of course, with these two, nothing ever goes according to plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Every Part Aflame

**Author's Note:**

> I know nothing about real politics lmao please be gentle
> 
> also, this is my first fic with these characters so I'm sorry if they don't quite feel right; I'm still trying to develop them. anyway, all comments and kudos are welcome! feedback and possible ideas are loved as well, no guarantee I'll be able to incorporate them but I'll see what I can do!! I'll try to get in at least two to three updates a month :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow so I've never written smut before and I'm very sorry about this

Alex isn’t entirely sure where he is, or where he started the night, but the alcohol is dulling his senses and it’s nice to finally escape from the pressures of work. He has to admit, a lot of that pressure comes from him, but still. It's nice, no matter how much he'll regret letting go in the morning.

He takes in his blurring surroundings with a frown, some dimly-lit dive bar that doesn’t look too familiar. Good. He’s less likely to run into somebody from work, then. Hopefully he’s less likely to be recognized as well.

He throws back the rest of his drink, nodding at the bartender for another. It’s probably not a good idea, but the buzz he’s getting tips him into the realm of _“I don’t give two shits.”_

“Hamilton?” The voice is all too familiar, that lofty arrogance and prideful carriage.

Alex fucking _hates_ him.

He turns slowly, trying to stay balanced. “Mr. Secretary,” he greets with careful enunciation, trying not to slur his words and reveal just how tipsy he is.

Thomas Jefferson frowns at him, arching an eyebrow as the bartender plops another ice cold beer in front of him. “Are you drunk?” He asks, sliding the bottle away from Hamilton.

Alex glares, pulling the drink toward him. “No, ’m not,” he insists, words melting into one another as he takes a swig. _“You are.”_

The taller man sighs, rolling his eyes at the childish response. “As much as I dislike you, Alexander, I’m not going to stand by as you drown your sorrows,” Thomas takes back the bottle, using his height to his advantage and keeping it purposefully out of reach. “I’m calling you a cab, and you’re going to sleep for once in your miserable existence.”

Alex pouts. “No.” He orders another beer, and after a few more attempts that make Hamilton suspect maybe Thomas does care, Jefferson gives up on trying to drag him outside and sits down defeated.

Hamilton laughs, a little bit farther gone than he was before, as Jefferson begins sipping from the bottle he’d been so hellbent on stopping Hamilton from drinking out of.

Conversation with Jefferson is surprisingly easy when they’re both not that close to sober, and Alex is almost nostalgic for when he had someone to come home to, when he always had someone who was just waiting to talk to him. But no, that ship has sailed. Eliza isn’t going to come back to him. And that’s when he remembers why he’s drinking.

“You know what, man?” Alex slurs loudly, looking up from yet another empty beer bottle and over at his colleague. “I miss being in love.”

Thomas doesn’t look at all startled by the admonition, and instead nods in solemn agreement. “I miss being loved, too,” Jefferson slurs back. “Sometimes I can’t help thinking Martha was the only one keeping me sane, but now she’s gone and I’m surrounded by people who aren’t actually my family and it just _hurts._ You get that, right? It’s not the same with other people?”

“I’m not good at taking care of myself,” Hamilton answers. Some far-off part of his brain is telling him to shut up, that this isn’t something he should be confessing to someone from work (who might have already noticed, but still, but he loses his filter when he’s drunk and Jefferson is the first person he’s actually spoken to in forever. “Eliza was the only reason I was always okay, she reminded me when I needed to sleep and when I needed to eat and when I needed to come home. I think . . . I think that’s one of the reasons she left, I think I was too much effort,” he admits, slamming the beer on the counter in front of him a little bit harder than he’d intended. “That and she was in love with a woman I can never compete with,” Alex adds with a bitter laugh.

Jefferson frowns into his glass. “Well, I think your Eliza’s missing out, then,” he barely manages to say, tongue getting tied up, so he just offers Hamilton a wide, goofy smile. “Anyone’d be lucky to get a guy like you.”

Alex grins cheekily, completely forgetting the fact that, oh, yeah, he kind of really hates the man beside him.

“Right back at you, man. And, I mean, I’ll deny ever saying this, but your hair is pretty cool. And so is your face,” he mumbles thoughtfully, staring sidelong at Jefferson. “Your face is very cool,” he decides.

And then Thomas looks at him, eyes wide and dark and burning, licking his lips nervously. It’s _sinful_ ; the way he’s stares right back at Alexander the whole time, the way he bites down shyly on his lower lip, sweetly staring up through dark lashes . . . Alex can’t resist the urge, surges forward until his mouth is on Jefferson’s and their lips are crashing together.

The secretary’s lips are softer than he’s ever imagined (not that’s he’s imagined kissing Thomas, no, of course not), and Jefferson almost immediately offers Hamilton access into his mouth. Alex smiles into the kiss as their tongues battle for domination, pressing as close to the other man as he can, practically cornering him between the barstool and counter. He doesn’t moan, not quite, as Jefferson nips at Alex’s lip, but he does whimper, hips bucking forward slightly in search of friction, and that’s when Hamilton pulls back, lust blown-pupils taking in as much of the attractive, slightly disheveled man who usually carries the title of his enemy as he can.

If he wasn’t already drunk, that kiss alone would have done the trick, but the edge has already been taken off and Thomas leans in close.

“Your apartment’s nearby, right?” Jefferson breathes into his ear, and Hamilton shivers, the feeling going straight to his cock. _Fuck._ He should be saying no to this, he really should, but he doesn’t want to.

“Yeah, I think so,” he mumbles, bones rattling with nerves. “Come home with me?”

Jefferson begins pulling Hamilton toward the bar’s exit, and it’s the only affirmation Alex need.

His home isn’t far from whatever bar they were in, and Hamilton’s drunken mind is still working in overdrive to get them there as fast as possible.

They’re still kissing while Alex fumbles with his keys, struggling to get the door open, but then they’re through and he has Thomas pressed up against the closed door before they even get any lights turned on.

Alex sucks bruises into the sensitive skin where Jefferson’s neck meets his jaw while his fingers work at the buttons of the other man’s shirt. He steps back just a moment, Jefferson whimpering at the loss of contact but still allowing Hamilton to finish removing his shirt. And then it’s off and Alex is kissing his way down Thomas’s neck and collarbone, tongue sliding against Jefferson’s smooth and surprising toned chest. It takes a teasingly long time for Hamilton to finally reach his destination, mouthing against Thomas’s hipbone, as his fingers work his belt open and undo the fly of his pants.

“Please,” Thomas whispers, throwing his head back and moaning. “Please, please, _please.”_

His mind is foggier than normal, but Alex still knows to smirk as he looks up at the man leaning into the door for support.

“Please what?” he asks, with a sly smile, breath ghosting over the outline of Jefferson’s cock through his boxers. “What do you want, Thomas?”

 _“Please.”_ Thomas’s thighs are trembling, Alex can see how much effort he’s putting into not thrusting forward with his hips. “Your mouth, fuck . . .” the man murmurs, letting his eyes fall shut. “I want your mouth.”

Hamilton smiles as he pulls down the rest of Jefferson’s clothing, finally freeing his cock. He nearly moans just at Jefferson’s size alone, hands immediately going to circle his member and stroking up and down the length slowly. “That’s all you had to say,” he says smugly, and shifts his attention to focus on the task at hand.

It’s been awhile since he last did this, but Alex quickly falls back into old habits, tongue swirling around Jefferson as he slowly works him farther and farther into his mouth. Alex hums in appreciation as a hand tangles in his hair and Thomas _moans_ , hips snapping forward. Alex’s eyes water at the sudden thrust but he keeps working at it, letting the head hit the back of his throat as he swallows around him a couple times.

Alex whines when Thomas pushes him off and pulls him to his feet, catching Hamilton’s lower lip between his teeth and kissing him with fierce passion. His hand lies possessively on the small of Alex’s back, forcing him to arch as Jefferson continues to dominate his mouth.

Alex is breathless when the taller of the two moves his lips to the side, kissing up his jaw and sucking on his earlobe. His breath catches a hand cups his erection, pressing forward just enough to edge on uncomfortable. Hamilton loves it, bucking forward, breath catching, as Jefferson grins against the side of his throat.

“Please,” he moans, hips moving to meet the friction provided by Jefferson’s teasing hand. “Please, want you,” he whimpers in a shaky voice, biting down on his lip when Jefferson nips at his ear. “Want you to fuck me.”

And Jefferson fucking _growls,_ and Hamilton can’t get enough, painfully hard at this point.

 _“Please.”_ No, he’s not begging just . . . asking. Politely.

“Bedroom,” Thomas hisses in his ear, and Alex nods, leading him blindly through the dark. They find his room with relative ease, surprisingly uncluttered, and Hamilton barely manages to flip the lights on before Thomas is ripping off his clothing and pushing him onto the bed.

Alex’s pants are thrown into a pile with the rest of his clothing and they’ll definitely be wrinkled in the morning, but he doesn’t care because Jefferson is pressing him into the mattress and teaching him all of the indecent things he can do with his tongue.

He moans loudly when Thomas swallows him down with a practiced ease. “Fuck, _Thomas,_ ah shit,” he whines unable to stop his hips from jerking slightly.

Jefferson stops, removing his mouth, to shoot a warning glare in Hamilton’s direction. “Stay still,” he orders, hands moving to keep his hips from moving. But then he dives back down with renewed vigor, and Hamilton feels the way pleasure tightens his stomach, the way he sees spots of color despite his eyes being squeezed shut. And—oh, _god_.

“Shit, fuck, I’m close, please, you need to— _oh, fuck_ —stop,” he whispers, voice hoarse, before moaning loudly as Jefferson releases him from his mouth with an obscene pop.

“On your stomach,” Thomas says firmly, lightly biting where Hamilton’s neck meets his shoulder.

Alex moans loudly. “Fuck,” he breathes into the pillow. “Top drawer, nightstand,” he mumbles a little louder so Thomas can hear him. “Need you.”

He’s glad Jefferson understands, quickly getting out the lube and a condom. Alex hears the snap of the bottle open but he doesn’t get any warning when Thomas’s fingers ghost across his entrance. He hisses, spine arching.

Thomas didn’t even bother trying to warm the lube and it’s a sharp contrast to Alex’s flushed, sweaty skin. He hisses again when Jefferson finally stops teasing, because Jefferson has these insanely long fingers and once Hamilton has adjusted to the slight burn of the stretch, they hit all the right spots and he’s a moaning mess by the time Thomas is working three fingers in and out.

Alex angles his hips backward, wanting more, _needing_ more, and Jefferson finally gets the hint. He removes his fingers slowly, making Hamilton whine into the pillows, and Alex can hear him taking out the condom.

He tenses in anticipation, it’s been so long since last time, but Jefferson lays a hand on his thigh, stroking soothingly, until Alex manages to relax.

“Ready?” the other man whispers, leaning over Alex’s back and sucking another hickey into his skin.

Alex nods, moving his hips backward slightly in offering.

“Ah, _fuck,”_ Thomas groans as he pushes in, moaning in unison with Alex. He waits a moment for Alex to adjust once he’s fully seated inside him, swallowing when Alex shifts his hips slightly.

“Please,” Hamilton whispers. “Oh, fuck, _please,_ please move.”

“You never shut up, do you?” Jefferson asks, but he does anyway, long, slow thrusts that make Alex whimper; they’re too much and not enough at the same time. And then Thomas hits that spot inside Alex that makes fireworks go off and Hamilton gasps, clenching reflexively and drawing a throaty moan from the other man.

“Please, please, need _more.”_ And yeah, he’s begging now, humping the sheets, desperate for any sort of friction. He can’t think straight, every thrust of Jefferson’s hips causing a wave of dizzying pleasure to wash over him.

It doesn’t take much longer for Hamilton to reach the edge, white-hot pleasure clouding his vision. He reaches down to take his own cock in hand and it only takes a couple of strokes for him to moan Thomas’s name as he reaches his peak, Thomas fucking him through it.

When Hamilton finally comes down from his high, Jefferson’s thrusts have grown erratic and uneven, and despite the fact he’s more sensitive before and slightly uncomfortable, he can tell Thomas is close. He clenches down on him without warning and Thomas lets out a strangled moan that sounds like _“Fuck,_ Alex,” as he’s thrown over the edge into a shuddering orgasm. He collapses onto Hamilton’s back when he finishes, and they stay like that for a moment: both men breathing heavily against each other, silent and sated. But then Thomas pulls out and Hamilton winces at the loss.

Thomas rolls over and slides from the bed, disappearing into the en suite while Alex moves off the dirty comforter and strips the top layer from the bed before lying down on his back.

A distant thought claims Alex’s attention when Jefferson reemerges with a wet washcloth. _Will he stay?_

And then Thomas is carefully cleaning him up, tucking him beneath the covers, and Alex curls into a small ball on his side, prepared to spend yet another sleepless night alone. But Thomas climbs in behind him, pressing close to Alex until it’s just bare skin against bare skin and they can’t tell where one of them ends and the other begins.

Alex sighs, a content, quiet little nose, and melts a little farther into Thomas as the taller man’s arm wraps around him protectively. He missed being the little spoon. Alex really can’t bring himself to think about what he’s doing and who’s he’s doing it with, and closes his eyes. He feels warm and safe and _cared for_ for the first time in forever, and finally lets himself relax, the drinks from earlier still addling his thoughts making it easier. His hangover is going to be hell.

Alex tries not to think about how everything will change in the morning, and lets himself drift into dreamless sleep.


	2. This Is Not A Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the morning after

Alex wakes up to his alarm for the first time in forever; he doesn’t remember the last time he slept through most of the night.

But his head is pounding, he can’t focus, and his mouth tastes disgusting. It’s not until he slides out of bed and fully opens his eyes that Alex remembers what happened last night. He fucked _Jefferson_.

Shit.

“Speak of the devil,” he mutters as Jefferson appears in the doorway, yesterday’s suit on and phone in hand. He’s frowning, but Hamilton couldn’t care less. He slides from the bed, quickly making his way to his closet and pulling out a suit.

“Why are you still here, Jefferson?” he asks sharply as he tucks his shirt into his slacks.

Jefferson looks up, brow still furrowed, and completely ignores the question. “Hamilton, check your phone.”

Alex glares at his wardrobe as he searches for a tie. “Look, Jefferson—”

“Check your phone, Alexander,” Jefferson repeats coldly. “Now.”

Hamilton doesn’t even bother arguing, his headache protesting all thoughts, so he just huffs and backtracks to the bedside table.

_George Washington: Son, there’s a rumor going around that’s getting attention from HuffPost, Politico, the Washington Post, CNN, local news outlets, etc. “U.S. Secretary of State Thomas Jefferson and Secretary of State Alexander Hamilton Caught Kissing” “Are Thomas Jefferson and Alexander Hamilton Dating?” “What the Relationship Between Two Cabinet Members Means for the Government” “Political Rivals Caught on Camera: Forbidden Love In Washington D.C.?” We need to talk. Oval office. 9:00 A.M. Be there._

_Angelica Schuyler: What the actual fuck Hamilton_   
_Angelica Schuyler: Are you drunk or high or something??? Because Jefferson??? WHAT THE FUCK MAN_   
_Angelica Schuyler: You better be dead or Otherwise OccupiedTM ;) bc I expect an explanation and every. Single. Detail._

_John Laurens: You’re dating Jefferson? Are you fucking kidding me Alex?_   
_John Laurens: You told me that you need “space” and “time” and I fucking got that and took a step back but then you turn around and end up fucking JEFFERSON of all people?_   
_John Laurens: Fuck you. I thought we had a chance to be something more, but apparently we’re not even friends._

_Lafayette: What did you do to John, mon ami? He won’t talk to me or Herc but he’s here and he’s a wreck_   
_Lafayette: Oh shit. You didn’t._   
_Lafayette: Attachment: 1 Image_   
_Lafayette: MERDE IS THIS R E A L_   
_Lafayette: E X P L A N A T I O N R I G H T N O W_

_Hercules Mulligan: AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHA_

_Peggy Schuyler: you know I love you to death and back Alex no matter how much of an idiot you can be_   
_Peggy Schuyler: but whaT THE SHIT DUDE LIKE HOW LONG HAS THIS BEEN A THING_   
_Peggy Schuyler: I MEAN HERE I’VE BEEN CONFIDING IN YOU ABOUT THE TROUBLES OF BEING REALLY GAY FOR MY BOSS BUT THEN YOU AND JEFFERSON_   
_Peggy Schuyler: I MEAN JEFFERSON_   
_Peggy Schuyler: LIKE THE JEFFERSON YOU’VE DEDICATED MOST OF YOUR LIFE TO HATING_   
_Peggy Schuyler: PLS TEXT ME BC I NEED TO KNO W M O R E_

_James Madison: WHEN I TOLD YOU AND TJEFFS TO JUST FUCK ALREADY BECAUSE THE SEXUAL TENSION BETWEEN YOU TWO WAS PRACTICALLY VISIBLE I DIDN’T ACTUALLY EXPECT YOU TO DO IT_   
_James Madison: BUT FUCK MAN THIS IS SO PERFECT_

_Aaron Burr: well damn_

John’s texts sting and the others make him want to crawl into a corner and hide for the rest of his life, but it’s only the last message that makes him wince.

_Eliza Schuyler: Was it really that easy to move on?_

Because what the fuck does that mean?

Yeah, he made a mistake with John, and yeah, he wishes Eliza hadn’t found about it by walking in on them, but they were fixing things—going to couples counseling, trying to figure everything out _together_ —Alex had thought they were going to get through it. And then Eliza left him a note that said “I’m in love with Maria” and he was served the divorce papers the next day. She won _full custody of the kids_.

So what the fuck does that text mean? How is it _fair?_

“Hamilton?” Jefferson interrupts his thoughts, voice surprisingly gentle for someone who’s normally so impatient and irritable when it comes to a certain treasurer. “You good?”

There are so many things he wants to say in that moment, so many possible responses. But he just swallows, turns off his phone, mumbles a small yes, and goes back to looking for ties. He grabs two, glancing in the mirror. The bright red makes his eyes hurt and he stands there, staring at himself for too long without moving.

“Burgundy,” Jefferson says out of the blue.

Alex startles, he’d almost forgotten the other man was there, and a blush immediately starts crawling up his neck. “Sorry, what?”

“Go with the burgundy,” Thomas clarifies, with an uncomfortable clearing of his throat. “It works better with the navy,” he explains. “That red is too strong a contrast, clashes too harshly.”

Alex keeps staring at his reflection, not really paying attention to Jefferson, but he forces a smile and nods anyway. “Thanks.” He’s all too conscious of Jefferson’s eyes on him as he loops the tie around his neck, breath hitching when his fingers graze the evidence of the previous night circling his throat.

“Hey, so, since you’re still here we can split an Uber to work?” Hamilton asks as he tightens the knot at the base of his neck before shrugging into the dark blue suit jacket. “I’m not sure how public transport is gonna be this morning,” he continues, “with . . . you know. All the gossip and shit. Us being seen together is gonna be news already but I don’t wanna get approached for comment on the street. I mean, if you want to, that’s cool, I can get a cab easily on my own, but I just figured I might as well offer since you’re here alread—”

“Sure,” Jefferson answers, cutting him off.

Alex blinks, surprised. “Um, well, okay. I guess I’m pretty much ready to go then, if you are.” This morning is less awkward than he’d expected. Well, it’s still uncomfortable, but more so because usually they’d be at each other’s throats by now and it’s not awkward in the first place than the fact they had sex and Jefferson stayed the night.

Jefferson nods, glancing down at his phone, and leaves the room.

Alex is one-hundred percent aware of the stolen glances and whispered comments circulating the White House when he arrives with Jefferson at his side (wearing the same suit he had on yesterday, no less, they really should have thought that through more), and he only hopes no one notices the way the tips of Thomas’s ears turn pink or the fact that a trail of hickeys is peeking above the top of Alex’s shirt collar.

Jefferson parts as quickly as possible, muttering some lame excuse about checking in with Madison about something going down in Virginia, but Hamilton has to admit he doesn’t really care. In fact, he’s almost relieved he won’t have to face Washington while Jefferson ignores the fact they’re in it together and laughs when Alex has to close his eyes when the pounding in his head becomes too much.

He’s still not quite sure how Jefferson managed to avoid a hangover, or at least pretend it was having absolutely no effect on him. He is still pissed about it, though. Not fucking fair.

Alex sighs as he fishes the key to his office, slightly amazed and very, very glad no one stopped to question him.

“Hamilton!”

“Oh, God, please save me,” he mutters, before putting on his game face. A.K.A. a too-bright grin that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Hamilton, what the fuck went down last night?”

“Angelica, nice to see you, too,” he greets with false bravado, opening the door to his office. She pushes past him, dragging him inside at the same time before shutting the door.

“Okay, man, spill. I need to know _everything._ Was it good? Was _he_ good?” Angelica is way too animated for this early in the morning, and Alex frowns, squeezing his eyes shut and rubbing his temple. “How long has this been going on? Is it, like, an ongoing thing? Or—”

Hamilton groans, throws himself into the oversized leather chair behind his desk.

This is going to be a long morning.

 

Angelica finally leaves him alone with twenty minutes to spare before he’s set to be in the Oval Office, and Hamilton spends it brooding. He doesn’t want to go face the president, he doesn’t want to know what he has to do. But it doesn’t matter what he wants, so he takes a deep breath, steels himself, and gets up.

Alex finds Washington buried under a pile of paperwork and is about to move away when the president clears his throat.

“Hamilton, thank you for meeting me,” Washington says without looking up before the younger man can sneak away.

His pulse races as he pushes down the worry and embarrassment creeping up his cheeks, turning back toward the president and forcing himself to make eye contact. “Of course, sir.”

“You and Jefferson aren’t together, correct?”

Alex frowns. He had thought that was rather obvious. “Uh, yes, sir, we’re not together,” he corrects too quickly, nearly chokes on that last word, and he’s fairly certain he’s failed to suppress his blush at this point.

“The press has already gotten ahold of this matter, and, well, we really can’t have another sex scandal on our hands, son.” Washington sighs, rubbing his temple. Like he really doesn’t want to say whatever’s on his mind.

“Sir?” Hamilton prompts.

“I want you and Jefferson to go to the ball being held four days from now in the honor of King George. Together.”

Alex gapes, completely forgetting all semblance of manners and composure.

“And I need you to play it up, romantically. For the cameras.” Washington holds eye contact. “You guys need to tell everyone you’re a couple, and you need to make it believable.”

There’s a stretch of silence before sarcasm breaks through. “Oh, yeah, and then we can also go tell everyone that Charles Lee is allowed to take over the Oval Office and that we’re planning World War III,” Alex mutters wryly, shaking his head with a dry laugh. “Might as well colonize Mars while we’re at it.”

“This is not a game, son,” Washington chastises in a tone that means business.

Alex blanches when he realizes the man in front of him is entirely serious. . . . About something as ridiculous as this? No way.

“Sir, you can’t mean to say that I’m supposed to start a _romantic relationship_ with Jefferson?” he exclaims, flushing.

“It’s better than the attention an illicit affair will attract, son. Whether it is real or not, I don’t care, Hamilton, but until this blows over I expect you to handle the consequences and shoulder the repercussions without complaint,” the president says, sighing. “You got yourself into this mess, and you’re going to have to wait until you can get out.”

“But—” The protest dies as it passes Alex’s lips. He doesn’t really know how to respond. 

“Yes, Hamilton?” Washington sounds tired and a little annoyed.

“I don’t . . .” The last time Hamilton was speechless, John had kissed him. And this is so, so much scarier than that. “I’m afraid I’m not entirely clear on what you want me to do?”

“I expect you to work with Angelica on this so she can figure out the PR before you and Jefferson go public,” Washington says carefully, “and son, she’s the only one who can know the true nature of this arrangement other than you, Secretary Jefferson, and myself at this time. She will help you craft a statement—and by that I mean you’re not allowed to commandeer her position and write it yourself—but talking to Jefferson is up to you. Ask the secretary out, son. It’s really that simple.”

Alex gapes at the president. He can’t tell if he wants to laugh or scream. 

_In what world is that simple?_ He and Jefferson have never been anything other than rivals— _enemies_ —and now they have to pretend to be lovers of all things? What about this is _simple?_

He doesn’t know how he manages to keep himself from exploding into a lengthy rant and explanation as to why this idea is a) stupid, b) unnecessary, and c) stupider than Jefferson’s stupid beliefs and his stupid smile and that stupid hair and that stupid thing he does with his—no. Alex really needs to stop thinking about this. Instead, he takes a deep breath and tries to calm down. It barely helps.

“Sir—” he starts, but Washington is quick to cut him off, knowing too well that Hamilton would keep talking if he wasn’t stopped.

“Figure it out, Alexander,” Washington says, before looking down and frowning at the papers in front of him. “That’s an order from your commander.”

“Yes, sir.” Alex nods curtly, turning away. Washington has made it clear this matter is no longer up for discussion.

He leaves before he even knows where he’s going.


	3. Say Yes To This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Oh, hello there, Thomas. It’s me, Alexander, your political rival. Wanna pretend to be in love and go to the ball on Friday with me so everyone can just see how in love we are? Cool, can’t wait!”_
> 
>  
> 
> or how to fake ask out that one coworker you hate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> these chapters are a lot longer than I expected them to be but hopefully it's not too bad to read
> 
> also! I have a few ideas for where to take this, but at the start of works it always takes a little for me to find my footing, so sorry if this seems a little forced. I'm working on it! comments, kudos, and concrit welcome as always :)

Alex glares at the door to his office, slouched in his chair. Trying to figure out how to ask out your enemy after a one night stand that _everyone_ already knows about so you can fake a happy, normal, exclusive relationship with them when you’re not actually together is anything _but_ simple. Washington was lying.

Even if Alex did manage to think of an acceptable proposition, what if Jefferson rejected it? Then he’d have to drag the secretary all the way over to Washington to prove the idea came from higher up. Or what if Jefferson said yes? Then they’d actually have to do as the president had asked. And _date_. Technically it wouldn’t be anything close to real and would hopefully be over relatively quickly, but still. Who cares about technicalities? With the whole world thinking he’s in love with Jefferson, he’ll never be taken seriously again. Hell, he’ll never take himself seriously, either. His dignity will be destroyed, along with his career if the truth is ever unearthed.

And this, this is why Alex hates politics. Because “desperate times call for desperate measures” is all too true and if he doesn’t do it, he’ll lose credibility, and if he does do it and is found out, he’ll also lose credibility. Which is a fucking pain in his ass for absolutely no reason and he hates the convoluted _stupidity_ of it all.

“What has this world come to?” Alex mutters as he goes back to brainstorming ideas for confronting Jefferson. Cornering the man in his office is probably Hamilton’s best bet, but then it all comes down to what he has to say.

_“Oh, hello there, Thomas. It’s me, Alexander, your political rival. Wanna pretend to be in love and go to the ball on Friday with me so everyone can just see how in love we are? Cool, can’t wait!”_

That would _definitely_ go smoothly.

_“Thomas Jefferson, I’m secretly infatuated with you, will you marry me?”_

Yeah, like that’ll ever happen.

_“The president wants us to date. We could see that new X-Men movie and then go to a ball full of reporters who will take our pictures and our relationship will become the biggest gossip in D.C.! Sounds like a blast, right?”_

Half of that’s true.

_“Jefferson, we’re being ordered to fall in love and act like we’ve been together for a very long time. We both hate each other, but we don’t have much of a choice in less we want to explain the fact we had sex while we were drunk to the entire country and our friends and families . . . so. I’d rather fake it. I’ll do it if you do it.”_

Alex is worried that’s what it’ll end up sounding like and buries his head in his hand. If only he hadn’t gone and gotten drunk . . . 

Three sharp raps on his door pull him from the out of control spiral a single “if only” could have started. “Come in,” he calls distractedly.

He looks up as the door swings open and sighs. He really doesn’t want to deal with Aaron Burr and his confusing ideologies right now.

“Mr. Secretary.”

“Mr. Burr, sir,” Alex greets with a tired nod and bland smile, regretting his decision to forego asking who wanted to come in. “Are you here to ask for the inside scoop on me and Jefferson? Because let me tell you—”

Burr holds up a hand and Hamilton stops talking. “I was just going to congratulate you on your latest conquest,” Burr says with a smirk that Hamilton wants to wipe off his face with a fist, “and I also wanted to let you know that Angelica said she’s spoken to GWash and wants to see you and Jefferson in her office at three so she can prep you guys for comment before prime time. Something about you guys already being huge news and wanting to release a statement before a press storm of conspiracies destroy you two.”

Hamilton pouts. “I don’t wanna have to talk to Jefferson that much.”

“Mm, well, you should’ve thought about that before you jumped into bed with him,” Burr laughs, and Hamilton really, really wants to tell Burr to fuck off but the man in question interrupts him.

“And, Alex, I know how you and Jefferson get, but please be on your best behavior with Angelica. We have a really important date tonight and I don’t want your reckless drunk encounters to put her in a shitty mood, okay?” Burr looks at Hamilton pointedly, tapping his foot and waiting.

Alex sighs, knowing full well Aaron won’t move until he’s promised. “Okay, fine, but this means you have to keep Angelica preoccupied if she ever suggests a double date.”

Burr raises both hands, nods. “That’s fair.”

“Good, now, if you’ll excuse me, Burr, there’s a certain Secretary of State I need to go find.” Alex doesn’t miss the way Burr smirks, but he does ignore it. He waits until he’s in the hall to mutter a small, “Fuck you, Burr,” that startles a passing intern.

Somehow, Hamilton makes it to Jefferson’s office without incident and he greets Jefferson’s assistant, a young woman with a nameplate that reads _Sally Hemings_ on her desk, outside the State Department’s head’s office with a soft, “Hello.”

She just glares up at him as she stops her work, scowling furiously, and Alex can’t help wondering if all of Jefferson’s associates have an innate hatred for Hamilton because the heat behind her disapproving state isn’t one you just get from what you hear about someone, it’s because you have your own vendetta or an assortment of personal reasons that make you want to gouge someone’s eyes out. And yeah, it’s kind of freaking Hamilton out.

He’s desperate to avoid her gaze and tries to slide past her without prolonged contact. When he accidentally meets her eyes again, Alex smiles sheepishly, unsure of what to say or do, and settles on, “I’ll be out of your hair in just a minute, don’t worry.” But his words are a little rushed and he can’t help the urge to say something more to cover up how nervous he is. “We have some important . . . business to discuss, if you will,” he explains with too much emphasis on “business” and a well-placed but mostly involuntary wink that’s just a bit more suggestive than he intended.

The receptionist looks less than impressed. “Do you have an appointment, Mr. Secretary?” Hemings asks sharply, as if his words have set her on edge. It’s sweet, he decides, the apparent care she has for the other man, but embarrassingly misplaced. “Secretary Jefferson is quite busy, I’m afraid. No thanks to you.”

Hamilton assumes that remark was supposed to sting, but it does nothing other than amuse him. He grins as he waltzes past her desk, feeling a little more at ease while she’s obviously not. “I don’t need an appointment, hon. Thomas _always_ makes time for me.”

And her answering glare is the only thing that keeps him from balking at his own words.

 

“Secretary Hamilton,” Jefferson acknowledges without even having to look up from his computer screen, and his tone is more annoyed than surprised or apprehensive.

“Jefferson,” Alex responds stiffly. He really doesn’t want to address the reason he’s there, and ends up standing there silently for a moment longer than is comfortable. of course, being in Jefferson’s office in the first place isn’t something he would ever describe as “comfortable.”

A sudden laugh startles him, and Alex jumps slightly.

“Oh, my God, Hamilton listen to what they’re saying about us,” Jefferson chuckles as he begins to read an article off of his screen. “‘Secretary Hamilton and Secretary Jefferson were seen together last night in a compromising position just before leaving a local dive bar. Although both the secretaries and the White House have yet to comment, it is suspected that the two have been involved intimately for longer than just last night. Says an anonymous source, ‘both [Hamilton and Jefferson] have always worked closely with one another. Despite not seeing eye to eye on all political matters, the two seem to enjoy the other’s company and run in similar circles.’ There has not been any direct confirmation in any romantic relations between the Cabinet members, but both men have both been adamant supporters of LGBTQ rights since they first launched their political careers and both have ties to male partners.

“Recently, it was revealed that Secretary Hamilton had an extramarital affair with one John Laurens, a fellow soldier and outspoken advocate against police brutality and racism, which ultimately led to the end of Hamilton’s marriage with Elizabeth Schuyler, daughter of Senator Philip Schuyler. Laurens did not respond to our requests for a statement, but it is believed Hamilton and Laurens stopped seeing each other after the affair was publicized, making it entirely possible he and Jefferson are indeed a couple. Further proof of this likelihood was found when Secretary Jefferson and Secretary Hamilton arrived at work today in the same car, presumably after a night spent together. No comment has been made as of yet to confirm or deny these allegations, but it is expected White House Press Secretary Angelica Schuyler, sister of Eliza Schuyler, will issue a response before the end of the day.’” 

Hamilton throws himself into one of the chairs facing Jefferson’s across the desk, pinching the bridge of his nose. “God, I hate the media,” he mutters, already exhausted and not even halfway through the day. 

Jefferson just chuckles again, shaking his head before looking away from his computer and frowning at the man sitting across from him. “Why are you here, Hamilton?”

“Actually, to talk about last night.”

“What’s there to discuss?” Jefferson sneers. “It won’t be happening again.”

Alex glares up at him. “Sadly, Mr. Secretary, that’s where you’re wrong.”

Jefferson frowns. “Excuse me?”

“We need to date.”

Jefferson blinks in surprise, a series of expressions flitting across his features, but he answers most eloquently. “What the fuck?”

“Date. Go out. Be together. Become involved romanti—”

“No.”

“Not for real, Jefferson, but we have to pretend. We can stage a break up soon enough, but—”

“No.”

“Jefferson, you have to say yes to this,” Alex huffs, quickly growing more and more irritated but trying desperately not to speak loud enough for Jefferson’s assistant to overhear. She seemed the nosy type and he really has to sell this or face Washington’s wrath. And that’s really not something anyone in their right mind would look forward to. “This is me asking nicely, next it’s gonna be Washington glaring at you and threatening your position with more than this scandal,” he hisses.

Just being in Thomas’s presence is torture enough, being forced to ask him out simultaneously isn’t the easiest, definitely not when you’ve got a temper like Alex does, at least. “This is coming from above me, believe me, I’m just as horrified by the idea as you are.” He frowns, considering. “I’m not going to get down on my knees and beg, Jefferson. Just do it.”

Alex winces when he registers his own words. He knows Jefferson caught it too, because the man smirks and cocks his head to the side, looking more amused than should be allowed. Asshole.

“Really, Hamilton?” Jefferson wonders, trying to sound genuinely interested although the mocking in his tone leaks through. “You didn’t seem to have any problem getting down on your knees for me last night.”

“Oh, fuck you, Thomas,” Hamilton groans before straightening in his seat and glaring right at Jefferson. “Don’t you dare turn that into another pathetic joke.”

Jefferson smirks, closing his mouth but still snorting snidely.

Hamilton’s head hurts again. It’s like the other secretary’s ego is so big it takes up the entire room and doesn’t leave any space for oxygen. He shuts his eyes for a moment, trying to focus, holding onto the desk in front of him a little too tightly.

“Fucking—” he says under his breath before opening his eyes. “Thomas Jefferson, will you just get the fuck over yourself and accept the fact that we’re stuck in this together and go to that stupid ball with me?” Alex snaps, suddenly not caring whether or not they’re overheard.

“Why—”

“It’s a yes or no question, Jefferson,” Hamilton says impatiently. “Choose first, discuss later.”

“Fine,” Jefferson finally decides with an incredibly dramatic huff, and Hamilton lets out a sigh of relief. “But first—”

“Oh, God, please help me,” he groans, scowling over at the other man.

Thomas smirks. “I was just gonna say, if you really want to sell it, have lunch with me. There’s this little restaurant about ten minutes away that does the best mac and cheese, and I know you never have lunch plans.”

“You do?” Alex wonders, more surprised by the truth than the fact Jefferson is the one who’s made the observation.

“Mmhmm,” Jefferson affirms, “and I also know it’s because you barely ever eat lunch. So, if I’m gonna be a good fake boyfriend and you really want to sell this for the press, Hamilton, you’ll come with me.”

Alex pouts, sighing in defeat.

“If it makes you feel any better, if we do this now it won’t be as bad at the ball.”

Hamilton can’t really argue there. “Will Angelica kill us for going out when we haven’t made a statement yet? She’ll hate it if we make job even harder.”

“Since when have you cared about making people’s jobs harder?” Jefferson wonders, raising an eyebrow.

And, well, he has a really good point.


	4. Wait For It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex has an unexpected visitor and lunch with Jefferson goes . . . well?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I totally forgot that since the Secretary of State and Secretary of Treasury are in the presidential succession they have Secret Service protection . . . whoops. anyway, I’m adding in a security detail for both Jefferson and Hamilton (tjeffs has currently unnamed ocs, ham has mulligan and lafayette plus a couple more occasionally) but I don’t want to make it a hassle for you guys by changing past chapters and forcing you to reread them so let’s just pretend they were actually there following both ham and tjeffs for the first parts and just didn’t play any major roles? cool? cool.

Alex pushes open the door to Jefferson’s office, calling over his shoulder as he leaves, “Get me from my office when you’re ready, okay? I have work to do.” He doesn’t even wait for Jefferson’s response before he lets the door fall shut a little too heavily, briskly walking past Hemings’ desk.

It’s a short walk back to his office, but the person standing there waiting for him isn’t who he would have expected to see.

“Laf,” he nods, not bothering to mask his surprise. “I thought you and Herc were taking the week off?” Alex grins, raising an eyebrow suggestively. “For . . . _personal_ reasons, if memory serves.”

“Mm, Alex, mon ami, you’re not really one to talk right now,” Lafayette replies, cutting him off with a sly grin. “I’m assuming you just got back from _ton amour’s_ office, right? You sure spent a lot of time in there,” the man quips, a hint of bitterness peeking through the amused façade he wears.

Alex groans. “How pissed are you about this?” he asks warily as he walks into his office, Lafayette following him.

“About what?” Lafayette responds, accent a bit sharper than usual. “The fact that you have a secret boyfriend? The fact that your secret boyfriend is Thomas fucking Jefferson? That none of us would have known about you guys if it weren’t for the local news?”

Alex winces. He could fix this if he could just _tell_ Laf, tell John, but no. _These are Washington’s orders and he’s not going to let his commander down._ So he sighs as he sinks down into his chair, mutters, “Okay, I deserved that.” His peace offering doesn’t seem to appease Laf.

“ _Merde_ , mon ami, you definitely fucking deserved that,” he snaps. “John showed up on our fucking doorstep—” Lafayette glares at Alex. “—during our special break, mind you, and I’m still here unofficially, no earpiece, yes?—but John was a mess, mon ami, an absolute _disaster_. We didn’t even know what had happened until later, and you never answered any of us—”

Fucking _hell._ Alex didn’t ask for any of this, he really didn’t, and there are so many if only’s circling through his head—

“Alexander, are you even listening to me?” Lafayette all but shouts. “John is worried to death, none of us know what the hell is going on, and you’re too busy—how you say— _sleeping with the enemy_ to care?”

“Lafayette, look, I—”

“No, Alexander, I don’t really care what you have to say for yourself right now,” Lafayette snaps, his accent barely understandable as it twists with anger. “You have majorly messed up with not one, but _three_ of your friends, and you need to rethink your priorities before you lose us all.”

Alex wants to slam his hand into the desk, scream about everything Washington asked him not to, but he forces himself to take a deep breath, clenching and unclenching his fist until he can make eye contact with Lafayette as he fumes. “I’m so sorry, Laf, I really am—”

“Apologizing to me isn’t going to fix things with John, Alex,” Lafayette hisses. “You need to do that yourself.”

Alex frowns as Lafayette turns around, walking swiftly to the door.

“Wait, Laf,” Alex calls, and he’s surprised the man actually stops.

His eyes narrow into a glare as he faces back. “You need to fix it, Hamilton.”

And then he’s gone.

 

Alex is still debating how exactly he should respond to John and “fix it” without revealing any of the truth when there’s a knock on his door. He groans inwardly as he checks the clock.

Only Jefferson would leave for lunch right at noon. And really, it shouldn’t bother Hamilton at all but this is _Jefferson_ he’s talking about, and it pisses him off more than it should. 

Alex climbs out of the leather chair practically engulfing him, muttering a few impolite words as he makes his way to the door.

He can’t help thinking about how satisfying it would be to kiss the smirk off Jefferson’s face. Wait, what? Punch. He meant punch.

“Alexander.”

“Thomas,” Alex greets, as civil as he can manage with Jefferson grinning smugly down at him in his stupid purple suit with his stupidly perfect hair and those dark eyes and—

“You’re staring, Alexander,” Jefferson notes coolly, although he frowns as he begins to walk with Hamilton. They’re distantly aware of the two Secret Service agents trailing a respectable distance behind them, and they’re careful what they say. Under any other circumstance, Hamilton would be screaming about the fact Jefferson knocked at precisely 12 o’clock until the other man glared at him, yelled back, and somehow equated the argument to reasons Hamilton’s political proposals and principles are unsound.

But Jefferson, of course, likes to push all of Hamilton’s buttons, especially when Hamilton can’t scream at him like a madman, and apparently this is the _perfect_ opportunity. “Like what you see?”

_All of them._

Alex’s cheeks immediately flush bright red and he scoffs to hide his nervous laughter. “No, I’m just trying to figure out how your hair manages to defy all the laws of gravity when you wake up in the morning,” he retorts. “How much product does it take to keep that ridiculous hairdo?” It’s a lame comeback, but Jefferson still clutches his chest with his hand dramatically.

“I think I need some ice for that burn,” he says, pouring as much fake hurt into his voice as possible.

“Ah, well, being in the presence of someone as hot as me will do that to you,” Hamilton shoots back with a self-satisfied smile. _The way he bites his lip while waiting for Jefferson’s reaction is just for show,_ he tells himself as they pass a group of whispering interns, _nothing more._

Jefferson’s only response is a slightly too loud laugh and Alex can’t tell if it was meant to distract him so Jefferson could cover something up or to convince everyone else they are just _loving_ their time together. Because they’re pretending to be a couple. Right.

And even though nothing has really changed (let’s be real, people, everything has), it feels entirely different.

Because Alex and Jefferson are play-acting. They’ve got a back-and-forth going, but it’s barely an argument, not even a fight. And it is so, so unnerving to be on pretend great terms with your enemy when you can’t actually remember why they’re your enemy and you don’t really seem to be on bad terms, either. And oh, God. In the past twenty-four hours, Alexander Hamilton has officially begun his spiral into insanity: Exhibit A) he went to a bar and tried to get as drunk as possible in order to forget about his ex, B) he came across and slept with someone from said bar without thinking about it, C) he cuddled with him and woke up the morning after while the man—his fucking _rival_ —was still in his apartment, D) he let the same man who was forced into wearing the same awful purple suit two days in a row choose his tie, E) he agreed to pretend to be in a relationship with the man he hates for some reason that’s seemed to have completely slipped his mind, F) he is now about to be on a public lunch date with the same damn person because it made sense to him at some point, and G) he’s making an alphabetized list in his head as he stares at Thomas’s lips because they’re so damn _mesmerizing_ when he’s talking. . . . So yeah, he’s pretty confident that last night’s sex knocked a screw out of place. Or maybe screwed one in?

Alex chokes as his train of thought derails and kills every idea passenger aboard. Where did that blatant euphemism high on sexual innuendo come from?

Thomas frowns at him, trailing off as he slows to a stop, only a few yards from the White House exits. The men in suits stop as well. “Hey, Hamilton, I know our relationship isn’t . . .”

_“Real?”_ Alex wants to supply, but he keeps quiet because the agents are right there.

“. . . exactly what you would call normal,” Jefferson manages, “and I know you don’t like to admit defeat, but if you don’t want to do this or if the public attention is making you anxious, we don’t have to go,” he offers, and Alex gapes at him because it actually sounded like Thomas Jefferson was being sweet and thoughtful and kind. To _Alex._ “Just let me know. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” His voice is practically gentle and Hamilton doesn’t know what to think.

“No, no, it’s really okay, I was just distracted and kind of . . . startled myself,” he says lamely, shrugging. “We’re good to go. Plus I do love a good chance to get on Angelica’s nerves.”

Jefferson rolls his eyes and the uncharacteristically tender offer is rescinded. “Our government is run by such nice people,” he mutters cynically.

“Quite like yourself,” Hamilton quips before breezing through the double doors and into a sea of flashing cameras. He’d choose the media’s onslaught over finding out if hurt puppy or angry bulldog won the competition for control of Jefferson’s features any day.

 

“So,” Hamilton murmurs, stirring his lemonade while Jefferson sips at some expensive red wine as they wait for their food. Jefferson suggested the mac and cheese, and for some reason, he listened.

“So.” Alex gets in reponse, and he frowns.

_This isn’t awkward or anything,_ he thinks, and goes back to stirring his lemonade listlessly as he stares out the window beside them.

They hadn’t had to deal with as many photographers as Alex had feared, but there were a couple of pesky reporters who kept pressing for information. Jefferson had cut them off with a falsely bright, “No comment,” before he had draped his arm over Alex’s shoulder and ushered him to their waiting car.

He’s startled when Thomas speaks again, he’d grown accustomed to the silence. “How did we get together?”

Hamilton frowns, dropping his hands into his lap. “Um, well, we we were drunk—”

Jefferson laughs, but it seems a little forced. “No, no, not that, I mean, what’s our story? What are we gonna tell people?”

“Oh.” Yeah, that’s probably something they should figure out before they go public. “Um, I don’t know?” Alex offers.

“Thomas snorts. “You’re helpful.”

Hamilton sticks out his tongue just as the waiter arrives with their food, and he blushes at his rather childish behavior. _And, okay_ , he thinks as the waiter deposits their plates in front of them, _the mac and cheese does look delicious._

“When did we supposedly start dating?” Jefferson prompts around a mouthful of pasta. “What gives us good publicity without being implausible and overdoing it?”

“Three weeks maybe?” Hamilton shrugs. “Not quite a month, but long enough that we’d be steady even if we were private.”

He moans as he takes a bite of the mac and cheese, and Jefferson’s eyes shoot up from his own plate to stare at Alex as he straightens up ever-so-slightly.

“Fuck, man, you were right,” Alex sighs. “This _is_ delicious.”

Thomas is frozen for a moment, eyes wide, but he quickly remember himself. “Did Alexander Hamilton just say _I_ was right about something? I think I want that in writing, if you will.”

Alex glares. The man’s pride is unbelievable. “Fuck you, Thomas.”

“Not on the first date.” And there's that fucking _smirk_ again, and his stupidly laughable jokes.

It needs to stop.

“First, this isn’t a date,” Hamilton corrects, taking a sip of his lemonade to stop himself before he goes off on Jefferson. He really should be drinking something stronger, dealing with Jefferson requires a calm, patient disposition Alex has never possessed. “Second, even if it was, we’re supposed to be pretending we’ve been on plenty of dates before. Because we’ve been together for three weeks.”

Jefferson frowns. “Right. Three weeks.”

“Yes,” Hamilton agrees. “Three weeks ago, we were in the middle of an argument about the lack of representation for the LGBTQ community ever since same-sex marriage was legalized.”

Jefferson nods as he sips at his own drink. He was smart, he went straight for the alcohol. “I remember that, you said we should begin calling for a stronger transgender presence in government and leading positions—”

“And you thought we should keep a lot of focus on gay couples because the only way to continue to garner support for the marriage ruling was to encourage its acceptance—”

“And you were practically jumping up and down because you were getting really into it—”

“What can I say? I’m passionate about the community.”

“And then for the first time we actually compromised and decided both should be done,” Jefferson finishes with a small, almost fond smile. It looks unnatural.

“And there you have it folks, the story of how we realized we work better together than as enemies,” Hamilton mutters dryly, stabbing his macaroni a little too hard.

“Mm,” Jefferson agrees, and they lapse into a relatively uncomfortable silence.

Hamilton’s finishing his plate when he speaks again. “You know, this . . . relationship might prove you right,” he says slowly. “You said a high-up, influential gay couple could be invaluable.”

“I guess we’ll just have to wait and see how it all turns out,” Jefferson responds, flagging down the waiter. Hamilton doesn’t protest when Jefferson covers the bill.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, mind chasing down all the pros and cons of this less than desirable predicament in his mind. “I guess I’m willing to wait for it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm tired and I wanted to get this up for you guys, so I'll look it over in the morning for any glaringly obvious mistakes. sorry if there were any typos or grammatical errors, and especially if the conversation just sounded weird. I don't think I got it quite right, but I hope it wasn't too bad!! thanks for reading :) comments and kudos welcome and appreciated as always.


	5. The Closest Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex speaks to the press (sort of) and . . . John?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I get out of school at the end of the week so hopefully I'll be able to post more of this, but until then I'm not sure if I'll have much time to write because of a lot of end-of-year events (like graduation, plus I'm moving)
> 
> anyway, hope you guys enjoy this, I have part of the next chapter already written and I'll try to have it up soon! comments/kudos/concrit are all loved and appreciated :) <3

_John Laurens: You’re dating Jefferson? Are you fucking kidding me Alex?_   
_John Laurens: You told me that you need “space” and “time” and I fucking got that and took a step back but then you turn around and end up fucking JEFFERSON of all people?_   
_John Laurens: Fuck you. I thought we had a chance to be something more, but apparently we’re not even friends._

Alex glares at his phone, typing and retyping to the point his thumbs are sore. He’s good with words, hell, he’s _great_ with them—he wouldn’t be where he is if it wasn’t for his brilliance. But right now he really, really isn’t and everything he’s trying to write makes his text sound like a shitty Dear John letter.

Why the fuck did he have to go out and get drunk with Jefferson? And then fuck him? Right, because of Eliza, trying to forget about her. Look how well that turned out.

Now he has an unanswered text from her burning on the edge of his mind, the way John’s rapid fire series of accusations make his stomach flip every time he thinks about them. And now he has to somehow respond to both of them . . . or maybe, maybe he’ll only respond to John. Eliza left him, kicked him out two months ago. She made it clear he was never allowed to come back for her or the kids when he’d shown up and a hostile Maria/his ex-wife’s mistress had answered the door with a brash, “You’re not welcome here.”

So, yeah, life sucks. And he might have lost the closest friend he’s got because of it.

Fucking _hell_ , his head hurts. Alex can’t do this right now, he really, really can’t.

_Alexander Hamilton: I’m sorry._   
_Alexander Hamilton: We’re releasing a statement this afternoon but I don’t want to leave things like this._   
_Alexander Hamilton: Our place. Seven tonight. I can explain everything._

And God, he really hopes he can.

 

Alex stumbles into Angelica’s office ten minutes after three, and she and Jefferson both glare at him.

“You’re late,” the press secretary snaps, somehow managing to seem imposing even though she’s seated in a low chair and half-hidden behind a stack of papers and her laptop. “Jefferson was here fifteen minutes ago, Hamilton, you need to get your act together if we want to pull this off.”

Alex nods absently, mind still a little too preoccupied with thoughts of John. “Sorry,” he mumbles before dropping into the seat beside Jefferson and across from Angelica.

“Thank you for finally joining us,” Jefferson says, and it’s clearly not meant kindly. “I really missed you.” Alex can see Jefferson mocking him—about what he’s not entirely sure—and it looks like it takes all of his effort not to laugh.

Alex opens his mouth to respond, but Angelica’s glare makes him think better of responding with a lame jab at Jefferson’s principles. “Focus,” she commands. “You two—a fucking lunch date, really? I have to reword my statement because you two pulled that cutesie stunt together. You see, the angle we were trying to pull was you two wanted to keep your relationship away from the public eye and discrimination and harmful opinions, but now that you’ve gone and flaunted your togetherness I need to work out some bullshit about you worrying about affecting the dynamic of the workplace. Which is _hard,”_ she says slowly, every word supposed to make them flinch, “because you two _obviously_ don’t give a shit about how _difficult_ you make work for everyone.”

Alex looks down at his hands meekly, Jefferson himself looking sheepish for once in his life.

“Anyway, moving past your stupidity, let’s get on with this,” Angelica says, losing the glare and bitter tone and quickly transforming to an efficient businesswoman. “First things first: I’m releasing the statement an hour before the press briefing, and I’ll restate it then. When I’m finished—you’re both going to be there, by the way—we’ll field two, maybe three questions, and then tomorrow you’re booked for an interview that airs live at six. Questions later, Hamilton. Now, let’s get you prepped.”

 

“Recent rumors surrounding the relationship between Secretary of State Thomas Jefferson and Secretary of Treasury Alexander Hamilton have begun circulating ever since an image allegedly picturing the two men together was released,” Angelica speaks clearly, even over the clicking of camera shutters and the soft hum of noise from the reporters. “We are putting these rumors to rest, and confirming that the people photographed are, in fact, Jefferson and Hamilton.” The flashes are quadrupled, the murmurs of the crowds heightened as Angelica takes a dramatic pause. She continues after a moment. “The White House is proud to show its support and offer its congratulations to both men. We will continue to stand by their side through this journey, it’s not our place to judge nor condemn as they have done nothing but excel at their office.” She smiles blindingly bright, rivalling the hundreds of flashing cameras. “Thank you.”

Angelica steps away from the podium, gesturing for Hamilton and Jefferson to step up to the mic. For the first time in his life, hamilton willingly lets Jefferson take control of this situation. He really, really, hates speaking to journalists.

“At first, we wanted to keep our relationship private from prying eyes and didn’t even tell the majority of our coworkers,” Jefferson begins, glancing sidelong at Hamilton and smiling softly. Alex takes the hint and smiles back at him shyly, moving a little closer than he was before. The press eats it up.

“But this has led to a lot of improper speculation—neither Alexander nor myself are in any way ashamed or embarrassed of our relationship. This isn’t a one time sex scandal the media is catching a hold of while the White House is trying to sweep it under the carpet; this is a real, involved, and lasting relationship. It’s new, yes, but so many things are, and everything starts small—this country, its protectors, its leaders—and there are so many movements gaining speed along the way.

“We will continue to speak out for these movements, we will continue to fight for our rights and our people—Alex and I may be together now, but that isn’t going to change anything. Trust me, we’ve spent just as much time arguing and searching for compromises as we did when we first met. We’re still completely dedicated to America and her people, and, if anything, we’re even more dedicated to work as hard as we can to make this country a supportive and nurturing environment for future generations.

“Alex and I are proud to be together in this great nation, and we are proud to represent all of the traits our forefathers fought for. Union, understanding, equality, freedom . . . _love_.” This time, Jefferson isn’t even subtle about looking back to Alex and once again cameras are flashing like crazy and Hamilton doesn’t even need to force a blush or a fake smile for his reaction to seem believable.

“I’m afraid we’re not going to take any questions tonight, but hopefully we’ll be able to give some more answers tomorrow. Thank you.” Jefferson steps away despite the mob of reporters hollering questions, and he follows close behind Hamilton as they leave the briefing room, a hand pressed lightly against the small of the other man’s back.

Jefferson drops his hand the second they’re away from the cameras, and Hamilton breathes out a sigh of relief.

Angelica appears a minute later, beaming. “That was perfect! The interview tomorrow will be a little more in-depth, and it is live, so make sure you have all of your facts straight beforehand.” She pulls out her phone as it vibrates, frowning. “It’s Aaron, I have to take this, but please make sure you’re all prepped by five.” She puts the phone up to her ear and turns. She looks back, stares pointedly at both men. “Don’t do anything stupid tonight, okay? There’s only so much I can save you from.”

Jefferson nods.

“No problem,” Alex says, pulling out his phone and checking his missed texts. “I can’t stay, anyway.”

He has somewhere he needs to be, someone he needs to meet.

_John Laurens: I’ll be there._

 

“John.” Alex breathes a sigh of relief when he sees him. Five minutes had passed, and then ten became twenty, and he’d been afraid he had been stood up. But no, John’s right there, standing in front of him. “I’m so glad you came,” he murmurs, wrapping his arms around John.

John stands there, stiff, cold, unmoving. He doesn’t return the hug, and Alex lets go with a n awkward half-step backward, nearly running into the booth, biting his lip as he stares down at his feet. The floor of the diner isn’t the cleanest and the red vinyl booths aren’t in the best condition, but it’s still comfortable, familiar. This is where he first met John, where they first got to talking. Where John first kissed him. . . .

And oh, shit, he really fucked up.

“Yeah, you did,” John agrees with a bitter laugh.

And Alex cringes; he hadn’t meant to speak out loud. He falls back into the booth abruptly like his legs can’t hold up the weight of his guilt, and he slides into the corner until he can curl in on himself without it being that obvious. Defeated.

John sits across from him, frowning. His hair is a little wild, cheeks red and wind-kissed. As always, his lips are slightly chapped and his bright eyes gleam, but instead of mischief, Alex sees anger flashing through them. He looks as beautiful as always, but instead of carefree he just seems _reckless_.

The small smile John offers Alex is tight-lipped and forced, and the poorly-masked hurt on his face makes Alex flinch. Because he’s the one who put it there.

“Do I get an explanation or not?” John snaps after a moment of letting Alex stare at him, and Alex jumps.

“Yeah, sorry,” he mumbles, straightening in his seat. Just this morning he was in a similar position, sitting across from a man he wasn’t entirely comfortable with and discussing the nature of their relationship. This, somehow, is a hell of a lot worse. “What do you want know?”

“How long?”

Alex frowns. “Not very.” He’s trying to avoid the disaster he’s going to have on his hands when John does the math and realizes the date Jefferson and Hamilton “got together” was the day after they broke up. Alex really, really doesn’t want to know what kind of shitstorm John will unleash, but he knows it’s gonna be so much worse than the hurricane that threatened to drown his dreams.

John laughs, a combination of disbelief and bitterness freezing the sound. “That wasn’t my question, Alexander. Don’t you dare think I’m stupid, or ignorant, or some sort of fucktoy you can string along without consequence until someone _better_ comes along.”

Alex winces, but he doesn’t open his mouth. He can’t risk making this worth, and he always manages to talk his way into traps and not out of them.

“You said you’d explain. I want the facts first,” John hisses. “So. How. _Long?”_

Can he do it? Lie to John? “Three weeks.” Apparently, he can.

John laughs again, somehow managing to make it even colder and scarier than before. “And is that why you put us on pause?”

Alex doesn’t answer, _can’t_.

“That’s all I needed to know,” John says stiffly, standing up to leave. “Thank you for your honesty.” He turns.

“What about us?” Alex asks before he can stop himself, jumping to his feet. “Where do we go from here?”

“You, me,” John snarls, pointing at himself and Hamilton respectively, “whatever the fuck we had, it’s over. I hope he makes you happy.”

John is gone by the time Alex finds his voice and utters a helpless, “Please—” as he falls back into his seat. He thought he’d had his heart broken when Eliza took away his home, his family . . . but no, _this_ is heartbreak. Worse, actually. It’s having your heart ripped out and stomped into the ground and left in the cold with no one to help pick up the pieces and put them back together. Rockbottom has a new definition because now, now there’s no one left.

And there’s nothing left of him, either.


	6. Showtime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the interview

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my thoughts and prayers go out to everyone injured and killed in the orlando shooting, and to everyone who lost someone today. it was a disturbing, horrific attack and I hope you guys are all safe and sound. stay strong. I love you guys.

Alex wakes up feeling anything but rested. But the bags under his eyes aren’t any more prominent than usual, and his eyes aren’t noticeably bloodshot. It won’t be hard to deny he cried the night before. Alex forces himself to his feet, takes a quick shower, and groans when he remembers that goddamn interview is today.

He puts on one of his nicer suits, slips into his shoes, and gets going as quickly as possible. There’s a lot of things he has to do—draft proposals, think of what to say for tonight, try not to think of what to say for tonight so he can avoid freaking out—he works through his lunch break without even noticing.

Alex stops succeeding in distracting himself with just over an hour till showtime, checking the clock more than twenty times over the course of five minutes. He nearly cries in relief when Angelica barges into his office, even though Jefferson is already at her side.

Alex lets himself be dragged toward into Angelica’s domain next to Jefferson, following her into the maze of press offices. The secretaries fall into the chair facing the Angelica’s desk and she sits down opposite him, staring both men down.

“We’ve got less than an hour,” she says briskly, shuffling the stack of papers on her desk. Alex assumes they’re prep questions. “Are you ready?”

The answer is no, but both men nod and she gets to work.

 

“Any pointers?” Alex asks Angelica as they stand outside the room the interview is being held in, Alex straightening his tie for what must be the tenth time as they wait for Jefferson. The Secretary of State had excused himself to use the restroom a few minutes ago, and Hamilton can’t help wondering if he’s freaking out, too. Normally he doesn’t get this nervous; after all, years upon years of medication and therapy and you’ll get pretty good at keeping your anxiety under control. But this, this is just not normal.

And knowing Jefferson, the smug asshole, he’s probably his usual cocky, unaffected self. He frowns at his shoes, before looking back at the Schuyler sister beside him.

She tilts her head slightly, calculating. “Talk less. Smile more,” Angelica decides with a curt nod.

Hamilton laughs. “You’re starting to sound more and more like Burr.”

“Well, sometimes he’s right,” she says. “Now, don’t forget, this is an interview, not a briefing. Don’t be so stiff.”

She stops his hands as he smooth over his suit jacket’s lapels, instead ruffling the fabric until it doesn’t seem so stiff. “Be yourself, Hamilton, this isn’t you giving a speech on why your debt plan is essential to save the country and establish a unified system. This is you, talking with your boyfriend, to a small room of people who want to know about your relationship.”

Alex frowns, fingers playing with the cuff of his shirt.

“This,” Angelica says as she drops her hands from his, “is like telling your family you’re actually dating the person they thought you were just friends with, this is introducing your relationship to your family.”

“I don’t have a family.”

Angelica sighs, catching his hands in hers. She frowns, and his face mirrors hers. He _really_ needs to stop shaking. “America is your family,” she murmurs softly. “We’re genuinely interested in your life and invested in this relationship. We want to know everything about the two of you.”

Alex blinks.

“And you’re going to tell us how happy he makes you and why this relationship is good for you and this country. We’re stronger together, Alex, and that goes for you and Thomas, too. Who gives a shit if it’s real or not, you guy are America’s new power couple and you can move fucking mountains now.”

Hamilton nods in agreement. “Okay, yeah, this is good. We need to focus on the good.”

Angelica smiles. “Exactly. Don’t focus on the lies. Focus on selling it, on making it about more than just the two of you,” she continues. “But don’t forget that you want to make it seem like you’re just two men in love. It might not just be about you, but you guys are in the spotlight. Highlight the positives.”

“Okay,” Alex mutters. He clears his throat. “I can do that.”

“I know you can.” Angelica grins. “Now just be yourself, take all that passion and make it about Thomas. You’ll do great.”

“No pressure, right?” he jokes, trying to laugh away his anxiety. And wow, laughter is definitely not the best medicine.

“Everything will go smoothly, I swear.” Angelica beams up at him. “I’ll go make sure Jefferson is ready, I’ll be right back,” she says, turning on her heel. She doesn’t wait for a response before she’s out of the room and off to find his _boyfriend_.

Hamilton lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding when Angelica returns from her search with Thomas at her side, looking bright and confident as always. It almost sets him at ease—he won’t be alone, Jefferson is the same as always, and Alex can _do this._

“The entire world thinks you two are in love,” Angelica reminds them as they’re cued. “Don’t disappoint them.”

And fear curls in the pit of Alex’s stomach as he follows Jefferson in front of the cameras.

“We’ll get through this,” Jefferson whispers in his ear as they sit down, a little closer to each other than they would normally have sat. A lot, actually. “You’ll be fine,” he adds, and the way he’s leaning in must look good on television, even if Jefferson’s breath tickling his neck sends a shiver down his spine.

Alex cracks what he hopes is a believable smile, making a show of leaning into Jefferson just a bit as he forces himself to stare at their interviewer and not the camera.

Right. He can do this.

No pressure.

“You’re live in five, four, three . . .” The cameraman trails off as he instead counts with his fingers, signalling for the reporter to begin his spiel.

“This is Thomas Paine, reporting live from the White House,” he begins, flashing a dazzling smile at the cameras. “I’m here right now with Secretary Jefferson and Secretary Hamilton for an exclusive interview.” Paine shifts his attention from staring into the camera to look over at the secretaries sitting to his side.

“How long have you guys been together?” he asks.

Jefferson sits up a little straighter when it’s clearly their turn to talk, and he smiles just as widely as Paine. “It’s been about three weeks now,” he answers, “maybe a little longer.”

Paine nods. “Well, we know how you two met all those years ago, and we also know that you’ve always been on hostile terms in the public eye. What’s made that change?” he wonders. “How did you finally get together?”

Jefferson glances over at Hamilton, almost as if he’s asking permission to speak, and Hamilton nods almost imperceptibly. Jefferson beams down at him, and that on top of his nerves causes a blush to spread over his cheeks and brighten the tips of his ears.

“It’s definitely safe to say Alex and I haven’t always seen eye to eye,” Thomas starts with a cheeky grin, “but we’ve always been close.”

Hamilton nods absentmindedly as the other speaks. It is, after all, true.

“I think we’ve always thought of each other as rivals because while we do believe in similar things, we try to achieve them completely differently,” Thomas continues. “So keeping up the back-and-forth, slightly hostile relationship has always been second-nature.” Jefferson glances down at Hamilton again, just like they’d practiced.

Alex nods his agreement with a little smile, picking up his line. “The whole friendly enemy thing worked for both of us, but for me, it was also a way to ignore my feelings for him, if I’m being honest.” His hands are shaking, not because he’s saying on national television, but because it feels closer to the truth than it should. Alex laughs a little, trying to work out the nervous tension causing his knee to bounce. “But you know, I guess all it took was time.” He grins, but it feels a little too forced.

Thomas must notice the way his hands are shaking because he reaches out and twines his fingers with Alex’s, thumb immediately rubbing circles into the back of his hand. And fuck, it actually helps soothe the stressful anxiety rattling Alex’s bones and he practically melts into the taller man’s side as he continues. “Believe it or not, we were in the middle of an argument over something when we finally got over our pride and admitted we liked each other.” Alex is a lot more comfortable now, and the words flow less stiffly. “I don’t really remember what it was about, to be honest; we fight all the time, and that really wasn’t the memorable part of that night . . .” he trails off, looking up at Thomas through dark lashes, and the other man takes his cue.

“I think it had to do with LGBTQ rights and same-sex couples, actually,” Jefferson chuckles as he looks at Paine. “I don’t know how we got to that subject or why it was so different than our normal arguments, but, you know.” He shrugs, grinning as Alex laughs and plants a premeditated kiss onto his cheek. “It just kind of happened. Spontaneously.”

Alex nods once more. “We couldn’t be happier.”

He forces his gaze away from Thomas’s bright smile when Paine looks warmly at the couple and asks his next question. “Why did you guys work to keep your relationship hidden and then turn around and kiss in a bar before having a lunch date together the next day?”

Alex takes lead on this one. “At first, we didn’t want anyone knowing because we weren’t sure how, let alone if things were going to work out,” he begins, “but then it became more of a privacy thing. We liked it being just the two of us, finally being together after years of faking hatred, and we didn’t want it to affect our lives or those around us.”

“We’ve never been afraid or ashamed of who we are or who we’re with,” Jefferson adds, “but we didn’t want this to have a huge impact on our work or personal lives. We were just two guys who really wanted to be together—still are, actually—but we didn’t know how the public would take it,” he explains.

Paine nods in understanding. “Do you think it will affect the workplace and your jobs?”

Hamilton shakes his head immediately, “Other than having one more reason to do my work to the best of my abilities, definitely not,” he answers. “As much as we care about each other, our first priority lies with America and her people, and we’ll do whatever it takes to ensure both of our departments run smoothly.”

“In fact,” Jefferson says, “not having to uphold that rivalry and instead being able to just be outright and honest with each other will do nothing but improve the cooperation between our departments and our ability to compromise on essential plans more quickly.”

“So you’re saying this relationship will only be beneficial?” Paine prompts. “No drawbacks?”

Alex smiles as lovingly at Jefferson as he can. “None that I can see.”

“It’s already been really good for us,” Jefferson says with a grin and a well-timed squeeze to Hamilton’s hand. “We’re really excited for everything to come, especially the ball.”

Alex nods his agreement as the interview continues, answering here and there, being quieter than his usual self. And if he takes solace in the fact the Jefferson is pressed up against his side and his anxiety is quieted by the way Thomas caresses his hand the whole time, that’s nobody else’s business.


	7. From The Side Of The Ballroom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they go to the ball (finally)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is that some plot development and Feelings™ I see?

Alex glares at his reflection.

He hates the way the tuxedo looks in the mirror . . . well, the way it looks on him in general. Don’t get him wrong, it’s a nice tux. Hell, it’s a great one; expensive, tailored, everything he thought he’d never see in person—let alone wear—when he was a kid. Except it was tailored perfectly to the body he no longer has.

It used to fit beautifully, actually succeeded in making him look _good_ for once. But with Eliza gone, he doesn’t eat as often as he should, forgets to take a break, barely even sleeps, and it shows. The expensive black material hangs off of him awkwardly; it’s loose in places it shouldn’t be, too sharp and angular where he used to be less bony. It’s painfully obvious how much weight he’s lost in the past couple months, and he hates it.

Alex sighs as his phone vibrates, grabbing it from where it rests on top of his dresser. He expects it to be Jefferson yelling at him to get his ass outside—don’t ask him how Jefferson convinced him they should arrive together—but it’s John, and that almost surprises him more than the text itself. Almost.

_John Laurens: You guys are cute together and you seem happy so I hope this is good for you._

The little bubble that signifies John is typing pops up a second after Alex reads the first text, and he can’t help feeling a little relieved he doesn’t have to think of a reply once he finishes the reading the second.

_John Laurens: And that he’s good for you._

Because how the hell is he supposed to respond to _that?_

_John Laurens: Anyway I’m gonna be at the ball tonight as someone’s plus one so I just wanted to give you a heads up._   
_John Laurens: It’d be unfair of me if you just saw me kissing someone without explanation when things between us weren’t right, wouldn’t it?_

And Alex’s stomach drops because that fucking _hurts_. It’s a combination of the fact John obviously wanted it to be painful and the way Alex can’t resolve the tension because he already decided to go with the lie, but Alex can’t actually figure out which is worse. All he really knows is that the comment makes him freeze, that little black hole of dread forming in his core and sucking out all his strength.

_Alexander Hamilton: I’m so sorry I really am I know I fucked up and I hate myself for it but please it’s not real I need to tell you that I l—_

Backspace, backspace, backspace. He doesn’t want to finish that thought.

_Alexander Hamilton: John please know how sorry I am I really can’t even begin to explain why everything is so fucked up but it’s all my fault and I can fix this if you just give me the chance you mean so much to me and I don’t want things to be like thi—_

He deletes the message before he lets himself press send.

_Alexander Hamilton: I’m so sorry for all of this I know I’ve been a really shitty best friend_

It’s not nearly everything he wants to say, but it’ll have to do for now. John responds almost immediately but doesn’t offer any more clues about his date.

_John Laurens: Yeah you have_

And Hamilton really shouldn’t ask because he knows curiosity killed the cat, and yeah, satisfaction might have brought him back, but this tomcat is never satisfied. Anyone John dates is gonna hurt, but . . . it’s better to just rip off the bandaid, right? Instead of being blindsided?

_Alexander Hamilton: Who are you going with?_

_John Laurens: I’ll see you later._

Alex sighs. _He’s trying to make it as painful as possible,_ he realizes. His fingers hover over the keys as he tries to think of a response.

_Thomas Jefferson: Car’s outside._   
_Alexander Hamilton: K one minute_

 

It’s probably for the best Alex doesn’t have a chance to send John another text.

 

The camera flashes are blinding as Jefferson and Hamilton make their way up the White House steps—even with a team of Secret Services agents parting the crowd—and again when they first enter the ballroom.

Jefferson smiles blandly at the reporters, murmurs a couple of greetings and answers a couple questions about how he and Alex are doing, but Hamilton is too busy searching for John and his _date_ to be concerned with their publicity and approval ratings. Alex lets himself be led toward the other side of the ballroom—Jefferson is holding his hand, he doesn’t remember when that happened but he doesn’t jerk away, either—and they stand to the side near the door waiters bearing refreshments and hors d’oeuvres are trickling out of. They’re mainly intended for after the president gives the spiel Hamilton wrote for him announcing their esteemed guest of honor, King George III, but Jefferson accepts two flutes of champagne for himself and Alex.

The spot Jefferson chose for them to stand in is perfect to keep track of all the guests filtering in through the heavily watched doors, and Alex distantly realizes he’s not the only one waiting for someone to arrive. So they stand there silently, somehow avoiding getting into an argument over the drinks they sip at, until John finally arrives with a bright smile, neat suit, and James Madison on his arm.

“And so the exes unite against us,” Jefferson breathes with a dark chuckle as the other men make their way through the room and various greetings, gravitating the couple currently resenting both of their existences.

Alex isn’t sure what he wants to focus on: the fact that Madison and Jefferson used to be a thing (he called it, he fucking _called_ it) or the fact that Madison and John now seem to be a thing.

He just kind of gapes for a second, entirely aware he and Jefferson are both staring at another couple for way too long, and then turns to look at the man standing beside him.

The words, “Kiss me,” are on the tip of Alex’s tongue, but Thomas seems to have the same exact idea because he’s already turning to tangle his fingers in the hair at the nape of Hamilton’s back and pull him in for a kiss that isn’t exactly PG. Alex doesn’t enjoy it—this is Thomas Jefferson, after all, the man who is basically his sworn enemy—but he doesn’t _not_ enjoy it, either. Jefferson isn’t a bad kisser; he knows how to make a man swoon, which he seems to make a point of as he tugs a little on Alex’s hair, forcing him to tip his head a little farther back and effectively giving Jefferson—he’s freakishly tall, okay, Alex isn’t short—better access to Hamilton’s mouth.

And if they weren’t in public and if Hamilton wasn’t painfully aware of the two men approaching them, Alex would have moaned as Thomas deepened the kiss. Because he’s basically fucking Hamilton’s mouth with his tongue and Alex just can’t get enough of the way he takes control. He’s not sure what motivates him to grab onto Jefferson’s hips and pull him a little closer—the presence of their exes or the fact that he just really doesn’t want to let go—but he does, giving in to it, kissing back with everything he’s got.

It’s not until a throat is cleared to their side that Jefferson finally releases a breathless Alex, after a few unnecessarily (but entirely welcome) extra seconds of making out. Thomas’s eyes shine as he smiles down at Alex, looking a little too proud of himself, and Alex doesn’t break eye contact with him until James clears his throat again.

“Are we interrupting something?” he asks with a laugh that’s just a little too loud.

Alex drops his hands from Jefferson’s hips abruptly, blushing down at his expensive leather shoes. “Nope, nothing,” he mutters, stepping away just a little bit, trying to slow his pulse and even out the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

He should probably get used to PDA with Jefferson, they’re one of the most popular couples on Capitol Hill and constantly in the spotlight, but he can’t help the way it makes him feel—like he’s . . . _flying_ , on some sort of rollercoaster with twist and turns he can’t see but anticipates. And it’s not only that: he craves it, the feeling of being with someone again, of having someone by his side. He and Jefferson aren’t even together, he knows that, but that almost adds to the thrill—it feels like he’s involved in some dirty secret that’s hidden in plain sight, one even he never would have even considered.

Because it’s _Jefferson_ , of all people. The man he has never agreed with, the one who’s always making his work and life as hard as it can get. The man he’s starting to notice the more likable traits of—like his eyes, dark, warm, the kind people write sonnets about, the ones you get lost in; his voice, the way he talks, that stupid smug ego; and the fact that he isn’t actually a shitty guy, the fact he unconsciously calmed Alex down, took his hands, distracted him, reassured him—

And oh, hell no. He didn’t just call Thomas fucking Jefferson _likable_.

His cheeks are on fire when he finally tears himself from that dangerous train of thought before it derails, meeting John’s eyes meekly.

Laurens looks at him sharply, calculating. The bright smile on his face doesn’t quite meet his eyes.

“Hello, Alexander,” he says, voice clipped. “You appear to be enjoying yourself this evening.” John doesn’t even bother to veil the malice in his tone.

_Hell hath no fury. . . ._

“I am,” Alex responds sweetly, trying hard not to flush any more. “Are you?”

Laurens nods, and Jefferson snickers at the way he pulls Madison just a little closer to him. “Definitely,” he answers without hesitating. “I have a great date tonight, after all. No one could compete.”

And Alexander—for the first time in his life—doesn’t rise to the hidden challenge. He nods, offers a small smile. But keeping his mouth shut doesn’t mean he can’t let his actions speak for him. He leans into Jefferson’s side a little, and the other man automatically reaches his arm around Hamilton, his hand settling dangerously close to Alex’s ass. And for a moment, Alex thinks they resemble a real loving couple.

“Well, it was nice seeing you guys,” Jefferson says without any inflection at all, ending the awkward stretch of silence and hopefully the conversation.

“Really a pleasure,” Hamilton adds, wanting the entire uncomfortable encounter to end as quickly as possible.

Madison nods his agreement, and he looks more amused by the stiff way John and Alex are staring each other down than irked by the fact Jefferson is with another man. Their relationship must have ended a while ago, Hamilton decides.

“The feeling’s mutual,” John says smoothly, smile a little forced. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a date I’d like to dance with.” And he and Madison disappear into the waltzing crowd seconds later.

Jefferson’s arm falls from Hamilton’s shoulders the second they’re gone, and Alex doesn’t fail to notice the way the other secretary also moves a half step away like the mere thought of Hamilton repulses him. And something coils in Alex’s core, something akin to . . . disappointment? And he frowns, finishing off his glass of champagne a little faster than he should. Because, for a second there, their relationship seemed like it could be genuine, and really, as much as he misses being with someone, Jefferson is not a man who would ever pursue Hamilton and he really needs to get rid of that foolish notion before he makes a mistake.

But you know, they’re already in over their heads. Does Alexander Hamilton really care? Of course not.

“Dance with me,” Alex says suddenly, before he can change his mind, and Jefferson looks away from the crowd abruptly, frowning.

“What?”

“Don’t you want to sell this?” Alex asks with a raised eyebrow, trying not to sound too anxious and hurried. “The president’s commencement speech isn’t supposed to start for at least fifteen minutes, and I’m sure Madison will notice—”

“—And John, too,” Jefferson finishes, nodding in understanding.

“Plus, it’s more fun this way,” Hamilton adds with a tight-lipped smile, because that’s all it is. Fun, not real. “Watching the press go crazy, I mean.”

“Good point,” Jefferson answers a little slowly. “But I lead.”

Hamilton groans, but still nods, albeit very reluctantly. “Fine.”

“Great!” Jefferson winks and Hamilton wants to gag, mainly because Jefferson just fucking _winked_ at him, but also because Jefferson just winked at _him_. He’s not willing to admit it sent a little shiver down his spine. Because it didn’t, it really didn’t.

“After you, mon amour,” Jefferson says with a sly look at Hamilton as he puts emphasis on the pet name.

_So they’re really doing this, then._

“Of course, my dearest francophile,” Alex replies, slipping his arm into the crook of Jefferson’s elbow.

“You’re lucky I love you more than I love France,” Jefferson quips with a playful glare, but something flashes behind his eyes as he says it that Alex can’t quite place.

Hamilton laughs wryly. “If you love me more than you love France, why won’t you support my debt plan?” he asks, trying to see how far he can push this without making things too serious.

“Because it’s stupid and everyone knows it, love,” Jefferson answers, smiling too sweetly.

“You’re just afraid of admitting how successful it’ll be, _sweetie_ ,” Alex counters, walking quickly to keep up with Jefferson’s long strides.

“Ah, well, you keep thinking whatever it is that keeps that pretty little head of yours happy,” Jefferson murmurs with a strained smile. “Now, my love, can you please move a little faster? At this rate we won’t reach the dance floor until tomorrow.”

Hamilton walks slower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I don't really know where I'm going with this fic to be honest I just wanted to write a fake dating au and I'm really sorry if this just goes downhill from here
> 
> and apparently I suck at slow burns because I really want them to just get together already lmao so things might seem rushed. my bad ://
> 
> anyway, you guys are so sweet and I live for your feedback/comments!!! (also if there are any mistakes, please feel free to point them out, sometimes I get lazy and don't really edit as thoroughly as I should)


	8. An Itemized List

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hamilton makes a list to address his feelings and peggy makes an appearance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really like this chapter :/ but it's necessary and hopefully things will start getting better after this
> 
> also you guys are so unbelievably sweet and just incredible in every way so thank you for all of the comments and kudos <3 you babes are my motivation

After their first encounter with Laurens and Madison, the night goes rather uneventfully, but Hamilton is glad when he finally reaches home. Until, of course, Jefferson unbuckles his seat belt, too, explaining, “I’m being a gentleman and walking my boyfriend to the door.”

Alex rolls his eyes but doesn’t protest when their driver appears to help them out of the car, and just makes his way up the front steps of his building. He can feel Jefferson’s eyes on him when they reach the door and it takes a little longer than he’d like to admit for him to find his keys. He blushes as he fumbles with his key ring, refusing to make eye contact with Jefferson until he manages to get the right key in the door.

“Night, Thomas,” he mutters.

“Good night, Alexander,” Jefferson replies stiffly, almost _reluctantly_ , once Hamilton has the door unlocked. Thomas cups the other man’s cheek with his hand, rough callouses—from working on his pretentiously-named plantation in Virginia, Alex guesses—caressing his face as Jefferson leans in, and Hamilton is about to meet him halfway before he catches himself, freezes, pulls back slightly to stare at the other man with wide eyes.

“Whoa, there,” he mutters, bringing his hands up to Jefferson’s chest, successfully keeping him a safe distance away without actually pushing him back. “What are you doing?”

Thomas frowns, face seeming to fall, and the small smirk he replaces his almost disappointed expression with is just the tiniest bit forced. “Agents,” he whispers, planting a ghost of a kiss to the corner of Hamilton’s mouth. He clears his throat as he backs away and Alex just blinks at him, frozen. He doesn’t know what to say.

Jefferson winks at him for the second time that night, giving him a crooked little smile. “Until tomorrow, love.”

“I can’t wait,” Alex mutters sarcastically, but he’s worried there’s some truth behind his words.

He shuts the door before Jefferson can say anything else.

 

Alex spends more time than he would like to admit mulling over the night’s events, his thoughts distracting him from sleep because every time he closes his eyes he sees _Jefferson_. Jefferson’s eyes, Jefferson’s smile, Jefferson’s hair, Jefferson’s hands, Jefferson’s lips, each and every little detail about the man that he _hates_. And he has no idea what to make of it.

So after fifty minutes in bed that Alex spends trying to think of anything but Jefferson (he fails, his attempt at sleep just turns into fifty minutes where he thinks of everything Jefferson), Alex drags himself out of bed and over to his computer, coping the only way he knows how. By writing.

Ever since Hamilton had learned how to write it had become an escape for him, an outlet, a form of expression. But above all else, it had always been what he’d turned to when he had a problem, a way he’d worked himself through issue after issue. So he’s not surprised when his fingers fly across the keys of their own accord, thought after thought pouring itself over the keyboard until it’s transcribed into an itemized list on a document simply titled _Thomas._

_1) The First Night:_   
_a) awkward drunken heart-to-heart_   
_b) sex. with Jefferson. liked it._   
_c) we fucking cuddled and stayed the night what is this_   
_d) slept with him and also SLEPT with him???_

_2) The Morning After:_   
_a) he was stiLL THERE_   
_b) HE HELPED ME PICK A TIE_   
_c) WE WENT TO WORK TOGETHER TOO LIKE SOME OLD MARRIED COUPLE AND IT WAS REALLY DOMESTIC_

_3) The Lunch Date:_   
_a) he invited me to lunch_   
_b) he knows I don’t eat lunch regularly? stalker?_   
_c) we finished each other’s fucking sentences !!!_   
_d) there wasn’t even an argument_

_4) The Interview:_   
_a) he looked like he was genuinely IN LOVE and I think my heart skipped a beat shit_   
_b) he saw I was anxious and told me we’d get through it_   
_c) he also held my hands because they were shaking_   
_d) honestly I don’t really know but I felt comfortable with him?_

_5) The Kiss at the Ball:_   
_a) he fucjing anticipated it_   
_b) it was really really good and that thing he did with his tongue and his hands and his lips_   
_c) didn’t want to stop??_   
_d) didn’t feel “fake”_   
_e) I couldn’t even breathe right afterward how_

_6) The Dance:_   
_a) he put his fucking HAND on my ASS_   
_b) he was really careful and very warm and he was also really really close to my face_   
_c) I thought he was going to kiss me?_   
_d) also p sure we were lowkey flirting the whole time_

_7) The Goodbye (Almost) Kiss:_   
_a) he walked me to the door just to “say goodnight” and “be a gentleman”_   
_b) he wanted to kiss me?_   
_c) I wanted to kiss him??_   
_d) he still kissed me_   
_e) I didn’t want him to go_

_8) Everything Else:_   
_a) we’re pretending to date and I don’t want it to be fake anymore_   
_b) he’s not actually as shitty as I convinced myself he was_   
_c) he’s an unfairly good kisser and v attractive and ripped and brilliant too_   
_d) I think maybe there’s something there?_   
_e) i couldn’t sleep so I wrote this instead because I’m fucked up and anxious please appreciate me @ world and whoever reads this_   
_f) I keep using question marks and I hate it???_   
_g) really tired but still thinking about him wtf_

_Pros: that twisty warm feeling, it’s Jefferson so he’s not stupid (in a way) and he’s hot and a really good kisser_   
_Cons: ??????, I don’t know what to think of/do with that twisty warm feeling, it’s **Jefferson** so he’s really stupid (in a way) and he’s hotter than me and kisses better too probably_

And as Alex reads over his finished list, reads over everything about Thomas that _means_ something he isn’t sure he understands, he’s all too aware of the cheesy grin he has to suppress and the absolute confusion brewing in his chest. And also how tired he sounds. But it’s not the kind of tired that leads to sleep, it’s the kind of tired laced with that nervous energy that makes him overthink _everything._

He needs an outside opinion, someone who won’t be _too_ judgemental, someone who won’t tell John, and someone who isn’t John. There’s only one clear option.

_Alexander Hamilton: Peggy_   
_Alexander Hamilton: Hey pegs are you up_   
_Alexander Hamilton: Please say yes_   
_Alexander Hamilton: P E G G Y_

_Peggy Schuyler: it iS STUPID O CLOCK IN THE MORNING THIS HAD BETTER BE GOOD YOU MOTHERFUCKSTICK_

_Alexander Hamilton: First that’s my insult_   
_Alexander Hamilton: Second I promise it’s worth it_

_Peggy Schuyler: then make it fast hamilton_

_Alexander Hamilton: I think I like Jefferson?_   
_Alexander Hamilton: Like I mean I don’t like him as a friend I still hate him in that sense but I think I have a crush on him?_

_Peggy Schuyler: are you five bc crush makes it sound like you are_   
_Peggy Schuyler: also you’re D A T I N G the douchebag you idiot i hope you fucking like him_   
_Peggy Schuyler: did you really have to wake me up for this_

_Alexander Hamilton: No but like_   
_Alexander Hamilton: I shouldn’t tell you because GWash will kill me_   
_Alexander Hamilton: But I feel like you’ll do worse than kill me if I don’t so here goes_

_Peggy Schuyler: you’re damn right i will bc it’s two am in the fucking morning, I have work at six, and you’re being w e i r d so spill the beans hammy_

_Alexander Hamilton: hammy_   
_Alexander Hamilton: I hate you_   
_Alexander Hamilton: But moving on Jefferson and I aren’t actually dating?_   
_Alexander Hamilton: But I think I like him?_   
_Alexander Hamilton: I made a list?_   
_Alexander Hamilton: A list of proof there’s actually stuff between us?_   
_Alexander Hamilton: Maybe from both ends?_

_Peggy Schuyler: what_   
_Peggy Schuyler: what do you mean you “aren’t actually dating”_   
_Peggy Schuyler: what the fUCK ALEXANDER YOU-NEED-A-MIDDLE-NAME HAMILTON_   
_Peggy Schuyler: WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK_

_Alexander Hamilton: Yeah haha sorry it’s fake_

_Peggy Schuyler: it doesn’t look fake ;)_

_Alexander Hamilton: That’s why I need your help genius_   
_Alexander Hamilton: I need your professional help pls pegs can you come over_

_Peggy Schuyler: the things I do for you_

_Alexander Hamilton: I love you_

_Peggy Schuyler: you also love jEFFERSON HA LOSER_

_Alexander Hamilton: :(_

_Peggy Schuyler: lmao but i’m on my way and bringing ice cream bc why not_

_Alexander Hamilton: Thsnks you’re the coolest Schuyler Sister™ (don’t tell Angelica I said that pls)_

_Peggy Schuyler: don’t worry about her bc right now you and me are going to have a very long talk_   
_Peggy Schuyler: knocK KNOCK_   
_Peggy Schuyler: ARE YOU READY FOR THIS_

_Alexander Hamilton: No_   
_Alexander Hamilton: I made a mistake lord help me_

_Peggy Schuyler: WELL TOO BAD GUESS WHO’S HERE_

_Alexander Hamilton: Ice cream_

_Peggy Schuyler: aND PEGGY_   
_Peggy Schuyler: OPEN THE DOOR ALEXANDER_

_Alexander Hamilton: Coming_

_Peggy Schuyler: ;)_


	9. Grappling With The Facts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex makes a plan and Peggy helps because she's awesome like that

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna be going on vacation for the next two weeks starting Monday, so I'll either write a lot or not at all. I'm so glad you guys are enjoying this though, let's hope I can write a lot. hopefully our boys will be getting together soon!!! <3
> 
> also, I'm gonna be staying near NY and I'm gonna enter the Ham lottery every day so please please please wish me luck!! I really wanna see it before everyone leaves after July 9th (very unlikely, I know, but I can hope), but worst case scenario I'll see it with a new cast for the national tour since I have a membership with the local broadway. anyway, happy reading!!! enjoy :)

Peggy breezes past Alex before he even has the front door all the way open, a rapid fire series of questions already following him into the kitchen as he digs around in his drawers for spoons.

“So what exactly do you mean you’re not dating?” Peggy asks as she sets down a large plastic grocery bag down on the counter, pulling out two containers of ice cream. “Like five days ago you publicized your so-called ‘relationship’ on national television but it’s fake?” she continues incredulously, and Alex can tell she’s just eating up this gossip, even if she can’t tell anyone else. “And the fricken _president_ is in on it?”

Alex hands Peggy a spoon, which she eagerly takes, still talking animatedly. She’s way too excited for this ungodly hour.

“I mean, I knew politics were a tricky subject,” she says brightly as she stabs her spoon into one of the pints before sliding the other over to Alex, “but I never knew it involved pretend dating your enemy after real sleeping with him. Of course, this is why I went into medicine instead, but still. _Damn,_ Hamilton. This is _gold_ . . .”

Peggy keeps speaking, but Alex tunes her out and starts eating his ice cream, mind too crowded with thoughts of Thomas to field her seemingly endless interrogation. Because he likes the man he’s supposed to hate, and he’s also already dating him? And Jefferson might like him too? And he isn’t sure what to think because Thomas is his political rival, the man he’s always arguing with in Cabinet meetings and in the Oval Office and in the White House hallways and over texts and on the phone and pretty much every single second of his life? And—

Holy shit. He’s almost always talking to or about Thomas. Thomas has been a constant in his life for the past however many years, and he was there even when Eliza wasn’t, when John wasn’t. How has Alex never realized this before?

He knows Thomas. Thomas knows him. What the _fuck?_

It isn’t until Peggy’s waving her hand in front of his face and calling his name that Alex notices she stopped interrogating him.

“Yo. Hammy,” she calls. “You in there?”

Alex glares at the nickname, startled back into reality.

Peggy grins. “Ah, there he is. Anyway, the list, man,” she states, mouth full of ice cream. “I want to see this list of yours.”

Alex flushes at the thought of it, but nods meekly and leads her into the living room. Peggy plops down on the couch, making herself at home immediately, and Alex mutters a warning against any ice cream stains as he opens his computer and pulls up the list.

_This might not have been the best idea,_ he realizes when she takes the laptop from him and starts laughing two seconds later.

“Oh my god, Alex, honey, you’re so pathetic,” she giggles, skimming through each item, and Alex frowns into his slightly melted ice cream.

“I’m in my pajamas, it’s barely two in the morning, and I’m eating ice cream straight from the container with my ex-wife’s sister,” he mutters. “I think I passed pathetic a long time ago.”

“That’s a good point,” Peggy laughs, still reading from the screen, “but yeah, babe, I hate to break it to you but you totally like him.” She shakes her head as she scoops out a large helping of ice cream. “You’re so gay it’s scaring me.”

Alex sticks his tongue out at her, curling into the couch and trying to ignore the truth she just confirmed for him. “Look who’s talking, Miss ‘I’m Super Gay For My Boss Who Is Also Super Gay And Could Potentially Be Super Gay For Me Too’,” he mumbles petulantly.

“Alex, hon, tonight’s intervention is focused on you, not me,” she laughs. “And, I guess, Thomas Jefferson, too.”

Alex sighs. “I know,” he groans, “I’m so fucked. If it wasn’t Jefferson I’d be fine, but of course, this has to be as painful and disturbing as possible.”

“Mm,” Peggy hums in agreement. “Now, stop moping, Mr. Secretary, so we can figure this whole mindfuck out,” she says. “From what I can tell, you might not be the only one falling for a stupid government official.” She winks, and it reminds Alex of Thomas too much.

He glares at her.

“Hey, I’m just being honest,” she scoffs in defense. “You’re all a bunch of idiots and I worry for our country because apparently the only thing you gay asses are good for is fucking each other and covering up scandals with fake relationships.”

“Okay,” Alex mumbles, still struggling to wrap his mind around the fact that he _likes_ Thomas fucking Jefferson, “you have me there.”

She nods, smiling triumphantly. “Of course I do. Now, back to business,” she says excitedly, putting down the computer and clapping her hands together once. “Our mission: get Thomas Jefferson and Alexander Hamilton to real date!”

Her enthusiasm, although much better than reluctance, is a little scary.

Alex smiles, softly. _Maybe something good will come of this, after all._

 

“Okay, okay,” Peggy says, dropping her empty pint onto the low coffee table, brandishing her spoon at Alex, “go over it for me. What’s step one?”

Alex frowns into his now empty container. “Step one: confront the douche.”

“Damn, I can practically see the little hearts in your eyes, Hamilton,” Peggy laughs. “But how exactly are you gonna confront him?”

That makes Alex pause. “I’m . . . not?”

“Alex.” There’s a warning in her tone and he sighs, leans back, lets his eyes fall shut. Fatigue is finally catching up with him.

“Fine,” he groans, throwing an arm over his eyes. “I’m going to wait until he’s just about to leave work so there are less people around in case I get rejected,” he begins, “he doesn’t usually leave until after seven, closer to eight or nine if we’re super busy. Which we are. So I’ll go to his office after the normal people leave but before he does,” Alex finishes.

“Sounds good,” Peggy allows with an approving nod. “Step two?”

“Get over myself, suck it up, don’t be stupid or cocky, and try not to pick a fight,” he recites, glaring at her as he says the exact words she’d used just a few minutes before. He wasn’t the one who thought out the steps to the plan, and he sort of regrets letting Peggy take the reigns.

She cackles. Well, not actually, it’s more of a suppressed half-laugh, but it’s enough for Alex to flush and scoot a little farther away from the woman in question as she regains control of her expressions. “I’m sorry,” she says breathlessly, trying to regain control over herself, “but that was a great step; this plan seems foolproof so far.”

Alex just crosses his arms and huffs dramatically.

Peggy giggles as she looks him up and down. “It might not be Alex-proof, though,” she admits with a smirk. “Which is why you’ve got me, of course!”

Alex is too fucking _tired_ for this shit. But. It’s Thomas. He can’t fuck this up unless he wants the man to be feeding off of his embarrassment for years to come. Peggy’s his best bet.

She claps her hands together. “Yo, bozo, wake up,” she commands. “Next step.”

“Step three,” Alex continues monotonously, “tell Thomas he isn’t that bad.”

Peggy rolls her eyes. “Man, you gotta be more excited than that. And also, optimism is key, your ego doesn’t matter, and you need to embrace the little girl inside of you that’s screaming with joy and tearing out the pink bows in her hair and throwing glitter over a shrine dedicated to this brand new bae of yours.

“It shouldn’t be ‘Thomas isn’t that bad’, it should be ‘Thomas is fucking amazing and perfect and I worship the ground at his feet’,” Peggy explains.

“Thanks, coach,” Alex quips.

She sticks her tongue out at him. “Step four?”

Alex huffs. “Confess my—” he swallows, shivers, “—my feelings for him.”

“Wow, I can practically see your love for him just radiating off of you,” Peggy mutters sarcastically. “Sigh. You need more luck than I thought.”

“You just said ‘sigh’ instead of actually sighing,” Alex observes in mock wonder. “Your laziness continues to astound me daily.”

“Oh, shut up, Hammy, what’s the next step?”

Alex narrows his eyes, thinking. “Desperately hope he doesn’t reject me, freak out before he even opens his mouth, run out of the White House screaming, fake my death, move back to the cursed islands in the middle of nowhere that I came from under an alias, become a beggar on the street corner, live till I’m sixty-three, and die on my birthday of a heroin overdose. They later find a note in the pocket of the old jeans I hadn’t taken off in three years that tells the medical examiner it wasn’t an accidental OD.”

Peggy stares at him, blinks twice. “Well,” she manages, “that was very specific. . . .” She frowns. “Except it was the exact opposite of what we went over.”

Alex shrugs. “I swear it’s gonna happen, though.”

“Let’s hope not.” A heavy silence falls over them, but Alex breaks it after an uncomfortable minute.

“Wait, but, if it doesn’t happen, what do I do?” he asks, playing with the hem of his t-shirt to work through the nerves winding him up. “Like if he says yes?” he prompts. “If he feels the same way?”

“Kiss him, take him to dinner, go back to your place, discuss your stupid politics, talk about how much you both hate Charles Lee because he’s a shitty presidential candidate for the upcoming term,” Peggy lists, counting them on her fingers as she goes. “Literally anything, man. But don’t fuck in the White House, please.”

Alex raises an eyebrow. “Why not?”

“Because when I visit you or Angelica, I want to at least be able to pretend that things get done in the nation’s capital.” She shudders. “I walked in on her and Aaron once, and I’m still scarred. It was fucking disgusting, bro, you could see—”

“Oh, no, no, no!” Alex exclaims cutting her off, cheeks red. “I don’t want to know, I really, _really_ don’t want to know,” he assures her. He may have had a thing with Angelica once, and a few flings with Burr, but he really doesn’t need to know about their sexcapades. 100% doesn’t need to, actually. Ever. At all.

Peggy laughs. “But you get me, right? Plus, you’d never know who could walk in.” She shrugs. “Personally, I wouldn’t want the president to see me fucking one of his Cabinet members, let alone if I was also one.”

Alex frowns. “Okay, okay, point made, Peggy,” he mumbles, “I don’t need to keep thinking about this.”

She grins at him.

He glares. “Anyway, something would need to happen for us to be fucking in the first place.”

“True.”

“I hope something happens,” he admits a moment later.

Peggy squeals in excitement. “Ahh, shit, who knew this day would come,” and this time, she does cackle. “Alexander Hamilton is asking out _Thomas Jefferson,_ his enemy, a man he’s despised from the beginning, so they can _date_ for realsies and retire together and adopt thirty little babies that they raise in Monticello on Thomas’s fucking farm and instead of renewing their vows after they get married they’re going to have an annual rap battle dissing each other’s domestic lifestyles and their kids are gonna be forced to learn about government and boring shit but they’ll be brilliant and your whole family will be so fucking _cute_ —”

“He hasn’t even said yes to me asking him out, Pegs. Don’t get ahead of yourself,” he laughs, and it sounds a little more nervous and hopeful than he’d like. “Plus, I have enough of those little monster children, I don’t need any more.”

Peggy pouts. “Well, at your wedding, I expect to be your best man since I was the matchmaker,” she decides.

“Oh, God, what have I gotten myself into?” Alex says, mostly to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Peggy, we’re not even dating yet, I don’t think a wedding is anywhere close to realistic.”

“Yeah, sure, but I’m still gonna be on the planning committee when this all goes down,” she states matter-of-factly.

“Yes, but you can’t tell anyone how it really went down,” Alex reminds her, and Peggy nods in affirmation. “Especially if this goes downhill and I get rejected,” he adds, “that way we can convince them it was just a messy break-up and I’m not in need of a trip to the psych ward.”

She laughs. “My lips are sealed.”

“Oh, thank God, because I’m gonna need a shoulder to cry on if this goes south,” Alex confesses. “And even if it doesn’t.”

Peggy grins. “Gotta mourn the loss of your pride, am I right?”

“Why do I put up with this?” he mutters.

“You,” Peggy says, “love me. I’m the best fucking sister-in-law you no longer have.”

“Ouch.”

She shrugs. “Hey, I’m risking my neck for you,” she laughs, but it doesn’t quite sound real. “If Eliza knew I was helping you get with someone else she’d kill me. ”

“Well, if I’d known that introducing her to my ex-assistant would help her get with someone else—” he begins bitterly, but he’s stopped before he even finishes the thought.

Peggy holds up a hand. “No. Alex, I love you, man. You’re like my brother,” she says, “but you both fucked up. You both did shit with people you shouldn’t have, but we’ve all had time, we’ve gotten over it. But Maria makes Eliza happy, and in just a few hours, I hope Thomas will make you happy, too.”

Alex nods stiffly. He hasn’t really . . . processed it yet. The fact that he’s going to actually ask out another man seriously, who isn’t John. the fact that it’s _Jefferson._ It still seems surreal.

“But right now, we’re in a good place. Let’s not have a petty argument about my sister and ruin it.”

“Yup,” Alex agrees, not sure what else he should say. He clears his throat. “Hey, it’s really late, and you drove all this way to deal with my romantic crisis, so feel free to stay the night. Either of the guest rooms will work, both should still be made up from the last time the kids stayed over,” he offers.

Peggy smiles. “Okay. I’ll probably be gone before you wake up since I’ve been scheduled for the twelve-hour day shift, but thanks, bro.”

Alex smiles back. “No problem, Pegs.”

She plants a chaste kiss on his cheek before depositing her empty ice cream carton and dirty spoon in the kitchen, disappearing down the hallway and into the larger of the two rooms.

Alex’s eyes fall down to his laptop, where his list and the brainstorm of their plan is still open. He sighs, and tries to get to sleep as soon as possible. For this to work, he’ll need to get as much rest as possible. Problem is, he’s always been an insomniac, and being this anxious doesn’t help.

And it’s all because of Thomas fucking Jefferson. Alex still hates him, just a little bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and this is completely unrelated but there's this fic I've been invested in for the past few months and it was really good and cute but it steadily got darker and darker and then the author just fucking killed half of their pairing and it was _ALEX_ AND I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO I'M JUST LIKE WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT I WANT TO CRY
> 
> okay. that's all. :)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> (((someone help me pls)))


	10. A Real Nice Declaration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> things don't go according to plan. as usual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know there’s been a lot more time between updates on this chapter (even though it hasn't been a full week) and honestly I don’t know why but it was just really hard for me to write this one so I kept putting it off ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ but anyway I’m super jetlagged and I’m still pretty drained so I hope it makes sense lmao, all mistakes are my own. also, no luck on day one of the lotto, so on to tomorrow. wish me luck babes <3 I need this before/on July 9 so bad it’s kinda sad (like me)
> 
> wow apparently my self-deprecation increases when I’m out of it. sorry haha but I hope this makes up for it :D

Peggy is gone when Alex wakes up. Well, it’s the fourth time he wakes up, but the first time he actually drags himself out of bed. He’s feeling more dread than excitement for what’s supposedly gonna go down today. He gets ready slower than normal, and he knows he’s gonna be late, but . . . he wants to try and keep up the illusion of normalcy. Because today is just like any other.

Except for the fact that yeah, it really, really isn’t; and the dark bags circling his eyes and the nervous jitters in his fingers just serves to be proof of that.

Halfway through tying his tie for the second time—his hands shook a little too much on his first botched attempt—Alex belatedly realizes it’s the one Jefferson told him looked better with the navy he’s wearing. For a moment he’s tempted to hunt down that bottle green suit of his so he can avoid thinking of Jefferson as he changes, but that ship has already sailed and he’s much later for work than he’d like to admit.

Washington’s gonna kill him.

The Secret Service agent that ushers him into his car when he finally pulls his act together is unfamiliar, and the short ride to the White House eerily quiet. Alex misses Laf and Herc, but they’re still on leave until Monday and honestly, he’s not sure if they’ll be as boisterous and friendly as normal. Alex fucked up with John, and even if he seemed to be happy (to rub the fact he’s taken in Alex’s face) with Madison, Lafayette had been seething bloody murder when he’d confronted Alex. More like torture, actually. Death shouldn’t be as painful as having your friends turned against you for the sake of publicity, a lie, and a one night stand that seems to be turning into so much more.

And that brings Alex back to Jefferson: the smug asshole/office romance/awkward crush/Secretary of State/guy Hamilton is freaking out over.

“Douchebag,” he mutters as he walks into the White House, catching a glimpse of hair that can only be Jefferson.

The agent holding the door for him startles, and Alex flushes.

“Not you, sorry, man,” he mutters, and resolves to keep his mouth shut until he can scream at himself in the privacy of his office. Except his assistant is right outside and it probably wouldn’t go unnoticed. He is so fucked.

But somehow, by sheer luck, he gets through the day. Well, it’s not so much luck as it is the fact that John Jay, the world’s best assistant (he deserves a raise, really), is finally back from the pneumonia that kept him out of the office and left Hamilton to fend for himself for the past three weeks. Not that Hamilton isn’t used to fending for himself, of course not, he practically grew up alone, but he’d gotten used to having someone sort through and prioritize his documents and various assignments around the White House, and it’d been weird to adjust to not having someone remind him what was a necessity versus a commodity. But John Jay’s the only reason he doesn’t get in huge trouble with the president.

John Jay is also the reason he gets through the day without thinking too much about Jefferson as well, so when there’s a knock on Hamilton’s office door and his assistant looks at him with a strained smile, Alex is blindsided.

Because Jay is muttering, “Sorry, sir, he wanted to see you, sir. I couldn't stop him, but you’re free for the rest of the evening, sir, so nothing should be disturbed—”

Alex stops paying attention, focussed on Thomas’s full lips instead, the wild gleam in his eye, the stupidly soft poof of his hair. But his appearance itself isn’t what makes Alex drop what he’s doing, what he’s thinking, just to stare. There’s something written all over Jefferson’s steely, determined expression, something that screams _business_ , just not the type of business they should be executing right now, right here. But.

Alex flicks his tongue, over his lips, entirely aware of Jefferson’s eyes burning into him. “John,” he says softly, but it stops the man in the middle of his sentence. “You can go home.”

Jay looks puzzled. “Sir?”

Alex holds eye contact with Jefferson even as he speaks to his assistant. “I said, you can go _home,_ John,” he repeats, raising his voice just a little, and either Jay has been keeping up with the news and gossip or he can feel the tension building in the room, but he nods once, curt, and ducks away before the intense staring contest is over.

And then Alex and Thomas are alone. In Hamilton’s office. In the White House. After hours. And Thomas’s eyes are full of lust and emotion and frustration and . . . _fuck_. Alex bites his lower lip before shaking his head and drawing himself back into reality.

“Jefferson,” he snaps, a little sharper than he’d intended. They both wince, and whatever spell had been cast over them in that first moment is broken. “What is this? I’m a very busy man, you know, and you are, too,” he frowns. “So hurry the hell up before—”

“Alexander,” Jefferson says coolly, “be quiet.”

“—you waste both of our time and—”

“Hamilton!”

Alex finally stops talking, frowning and instinctively backing up as Jefferson strides toward him. He inhales sharply as his back hits one of the bookshelves lining the walls, Jefferson smirking wide and stopping barely six inches away from him. Alex’s breath hitches in his throat and he can’t move or speak, hell, he’s not even _thinking_ straight—not that his thoughts around Jefferson are ever straight, of course—but Thomas is so damn _close_ and his breath is tickling Alex’s cheek and if either of them moved just a little bit, they’d be kissing.

Jefferson, makes the first move, it’s just not the one Alex had been hoping for.

“We need to talk,” the taller man murmurs, brushing a stray hair that worked it’s way out of Hamilton’s ponytail at some point in the day behind Alex’s ear.

He practically swoons at the contact, but he’d never admit leaning into Jefferson’s touch. He totally does, though, trying to chase the warmth of his hands. This is a good thing, right?

But Alex has no clue what to do or say, just stands there shocked and a little spacey as Thomas smiles sweetly at him. He and Peggy didn’t think about the fact Jefferson would be the one doing the confronting, this wasn’t a step in the plan, or even in the back-up plan she’d briefed him on.“We do?” Hamilton tries to agree when he remember how to speak, but it’s more of a squeak than a statement.

“Yeah,” Jefferson breathes with a nod. “We do.”

Hamilton’s knees are totally _not_ weak and wobbly, but he will admit his hands are sweaty. He clenches them into fists to try and stop the slight tremble shuddering through his fingers, and Jefferson notices. Smiles slyly. Winks.

Alex fucking _growls_ in response. “What do you wanna talk about?” he hisses, but it’s hard to be menacing when you physically have to fight the urge to kiss someone less than a foot away from you.

There’s a little voice in his head that sounds an awful lot like Peggy telling him to suck it up and just give in to the urge, but that’s too much pride to swallow in the moment. He’s not going to be the one to admit defeat, not when Jefferson looks so torn up over his own emotions.

“You, and me,” Jefferson answers, voice clipped. “Us.”

Alex gulps. _There it is._

“What about us?” he means to ask as loudly as he’d asked his previous question, but it’s barely over a whisper, and the inflection is all wrong, makes it sound like a plea. He has to drop his eyes; the tense silence is too much. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Thomas says, brushing his knuckles under Alex’s chin, forcing him to look up.

Alex shivers, and Thomas smiles softly at him. “I mean,” he repeats, “we need to talk about what neither of us want to admit.” And his hand is cupping Alex’s cheek and he leans into the warm, slightly-rough caress, lets his eyes fall shut.

“And what is that?” he breathes, refusing to look up, afraid Thomas will see everything he’s feeling.

“You know,” Thomas whispers back, stroking his thumb across Alex’s cheekbone.

Alex shudders again, squeezes his eyes shut just a little tighter. “But I need you to say it.”

Thomas chuckles, dropping his hand, and Alex’s stomach twists and his eyes fly open, afraid he ruined it, was too pushy. But Thomas is just looking at him gently, fondly, tangling his fingers with Alex’s.

“Well,” he begins, “there are days I can’t help noticing how amazing you are, and how much time I spend with you.” He sighs, “How it’s never enough.”

Alex bites his lip again, nodding along slowly.

“And there are days I think maybe you like me, days I think maybe I . . .” Thomas murmurs in continuation but drifts off, shaking his head with a wry smile.

“What do you think?” Alex presses quietly, trying to keep the anxious edge out of his voice, trying to keep the conversation flowing.

Thomas frowns. “I don’t know always know what to think,” he muses. “Sometimes I can’t even tell if you’re leading me on or just so fucking clueless you think no one would ever want you,” he explains and it’s probably one of the most honest confessions Alex has ever heard.

But that’s not what he’s paying attention to.

“And you . . . you want me?” he asks, voice, cracking, and he sounds so broken and small and utterly _helpless_ in that moment, Thomas doesn’t answer. He just surges forward, still gripping Alex’s hands, and pulls them up over his head, pinning him to the shelf as he takes complete control of Hamilton’s mouth with his tongue.

And Alex just melts, bucking slightly into Thomas who just presses himself closer, harder, kissing like there’s no tomorrow. And he could go like this forever, knows Jefferson could take him apart with his mouth piece by piece if he asked him to, but this feels so good, so worth the wait, and even with and uncomfortable edge digging into his back and the spines of books pressed up against his own, Alex never wants to move.

And it doesn’t seem like they’re going to, either, as Jefferson kisses down his throat, nipping and whispering, “I’ve always wanted you, always wanted you to be mine.” And Alex answers with his own string of “fuck” and “yes” and “please” and “Thomas” and “yours”, a mantra giving himself to a man he’d turned into his enemy in order to mask the sexual tension between them.

He laughs, breathily, as Thomas sucks a hickey into the skin beneath his jaw, the irony sinking in a little bit. And then he’s tugging Thomas back up, their lips fitting together perfectly, and time runs different when they kiss.

Hell, Alex barely even noticed it passing, and if the door hadn’t been open and a throat cleared, he isn’t sure they would’ve stopped.

He’s about to shove Thomas away, pretend they weren’t just making out and humping like horny teenagers, before he realizes—to the rest of the world, they’re already dating. Showing affection for one’s boyfriend is nothing illegal.

Except of course, it is a little awkward when the leader of the free world is staring sternly at you, entirely aware of what a skewed tie and messy hair mean. Especially when he walked in on it.

“Mr. President!” Alex exclaims, nervously, running a hand through his hair in a lame attempt to neaten it. But Thomas has no shame and just stands there tall and proud, and Alex would be lying if it didn’t rub off on him a little. He’ll wear these hickeys with a smile, now, thank you very much.

“Secretaries,” Washington greets, nodding once. “I was going to ask you about staging a breakup, but I take it that’ll be unnecessary?” he sounds too smug and not at all innocent. Almost as if he planned this.

Alex’s cheeks are on fire, bright red, and he nods silently.

Thomas smirks. “Yeah, that’s not happening any time soon,” he agrees.

Alex blushes a little more as the president looks them up and down once, nods his approval, and leaves the office.

And Hamilton could swear Washington smiled at them, knowing and a little pleased, before his exit. But Thomas’s lips are distracting and he’s too busy making up for lost time to think anything of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> random fact: John jay was actually pretty cool in real life? I didn't do that much research so forgive me if he was a shitty person except for this but he helped free all slaves in New York from bondage before his death even after two failed campaigns and I think that's pretty awesome.
> 
> another thing to keep in mind: unless I'm super motivated (to ignore my summer assignments) I'll probably be slowing updates from every few days to weekly or so. I have a lot of projects I've been setting aside or ignoring because, let's be real, this is a lot more fun, but I do have a book I need to read and I need to finish writing this really long story/finally start the sequel (it's not all school and writing that I'll be taking time for of course, some of it's stuff I'm doing for myself--I'm absolute shit at self-care but I've got to at least try). but don't misinterpret this note, I'm not abandoning this or scrapping it or anything, I'm just gonna be a little more busy. anyway, love you all, hope your days have been super great!!! :))
> 
> kudos/comments/concrit/your thoughts in general are always noticed and appreciated! <3


	11. You Can Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know what to say? they wake up together, go to work, go to Thomas's apartment, then sleep together?
> 
> I think there's like a glimmer of plot in this? not really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reminder: I know absolutely nothing about politics and I don't really know how to write smut at all either (literally I've only ever written it for this fic help) so please forgive me
> 
> also, still haven't won tickets :(( *cries* but we're still trying so we're hoping but July 9 is coming up real soon
> 
> anyway, enjoy! thank you guys so much for all of the comments and kudos and everything you've left on this!!! I appreciate them so much and it makes me really happy so thank you <3 love you all

Alex wakes up slowly. And it feels different than normal.

Because normally, when he wakes up, it feels like he’s drowning. Like he’s stuck just below the surface he knows he can reach, but he can’t quite get there, not fast enough, at least, and he can’t catch his breath. That’s also, of course, because normally his nightmares are scaring him awake but his sleep deprived body is refusing to let unconsciousness completely slip away. And that’s another things that’s unusual—when he does sleep, he dreams.

But today, with Thomas pressed up against him and a safe cocoon of warmth wrapped around him, there’s no memory of a nightmare, no fear, no middle of the night panic attack, and it’s strange. It’s so, so strange but it feels like the first time he’s been able to breathe easy, the first time he’s slept well, felt genuinely _relaxed_ in such a long time . . . since he was with a woman he loved, sleeping in late on a Sunday morning, their kids jumping into bed and climbing over them until they were awake, going to church to worship a God he doesn’t believe in because everyone he loves believes in Him. Since he felt safe, since Eliza and before the affair. Since he was someplace that felt like home.

Fuck, since forever.

So Alex relishes in it, lets the feeling of _home_ wash over him before he realizes that light is flooding the room. Too much light.

“Shit, shit, _shit_ ,” he swears, shooting up straight and startling the man beside him awake. Alex rubs the last traces of grogginess from his eyes, stumbling from the bed.

Thomas groans, sitting up and squinting sleepily at his boyfriend. His hair is a messy halo around his face, and he’s not wearing a shirt. Alex belatedly notices that he’s not wearing _anything_.

Last night was fun.

“Alex, baby, what’s wrong?”

And no, the way “baby” just naturally falls off Thomas’s tongue does not make Alex pause his search for clothing to preen. Instead, he points at the digital clock on his nightstand, mumbling, “Gonna be late, Wash is gonna _kill_ me if I don’t start drafting his final State of the Union, not gonna get it done soon enough . . .”

Thomas frowns as Alex pulls on a clean pair of boxer briefs before going back to slamming through his drawers, looking for socks that actually match.

“Babe, there are still a couple months before the speech, and that’s not even your job anymore. Plus,” Thomas says, calmly glancing at the clock, “I’m not letting anyone kill you, ever, even if we are late. And Washington _saw_ us last night,” he continues, putting a suggestive emphasis on his words, “I’m sure he’d be . . . understanding if we were, you know, a little later than normal.” Jefferson sounds far too suggestive, and it’s not until his arms are snaking around Alex’s waist that he even realizes the man is right behind him.

“And right now,” he murmurs in between nibbling on Hamilton’s earlobe, “I’m loving the idea of being late.”

And Alex gasps, distracted from his search for socks, when Thomas bites down particularly hard, spine arching and hips canting backward until his ass is touching—oh. _Oh._

Thomas smiles against Alex’s neck, pressing firmly against him until he’s pinned to the dresser. Alex melts into Jefferson, moaning under his touch. Thomas spins him until Alex’s back is against the drawers, hot skin pressed against cold wood.

Jefferson uses his tongue to trace a line down to Alex’s collarbone and then lower, lower, licking and sucking until his nipples are harder than they’ve ever been before and Alex is throwing his head back, moaning at full volume as Thomas continues his teasing.

Alex can’t help but feel a little self-conscious as Thomas sinks to his knees and kisses across the soft skin of his stomach because there’s ripped and then there’s Thomas Jefferson on his own level, but the way the other man is moving is gentle, reverent, and just a little bit playful.

Alex whimpers as Thomas mouths at his hipbone, lips and tongue exploring every inch of his skin except for the part Alex really wants him to touch. “Fuck, please,” he grits past his teeth, a thin sheen of sweat proof of how hard he’s focusing on keeping his hips from thrusting forward, “please, Thomas, just fucking get on with it.”

Jefferson, the egotistical dipshit, grins up at him before _finally_ pulling down Alex’s briefs and wrapping his lips around his cock. Alex groans as his boyfriend swallows around him, working him up to full mass, hands coming up to brace himself on Hamilton’s hips. Thomas tongues across his slit and Alex bucks forward into the wet heat of his mouth, burying his hands into the wild mess of his lover’s hair.

Thomas looks up at him, eyes dark with lust, and Alex bites his lip as Jefferson continues to mouth along his cock.

It’s not long before he’s coming, knees buckling and vision blurring, Jefferson’s hands the only thing keeping him up. Alex slumps against the dresser, breathing hard, as Jefferson gets to his feet.

“Good morning, baby,” Thomas whispers, going in for a long kiss.

Alex can taste himself on his boyfriend’s tongue.

“Morning,” he murmurs back, before sinking down on his knees. “Now, the least I could do is return the favor,” he explains, grinning up at Thomas and licking his lips as he pushes his boyfriend up against the dresser the way he had been moments earlier.

Thomas smiles back at him.

 

They’re late. Very late, in fact. But it was totally worth it, even if Angelica winks at him with a smirk that’s just a little too knowing and John Jay awkwardly stands by as Jefferson kisses Alex goodbye.

Jay clears his throat when the secretary’s gone, following Alex into his office and starting his daily spiel of updates. “Sir, Madison still hasn’t responded to your request for a meeting regarding the debt plan, but the vice president may be willing to go over a possible adjustment with you if you’d like his support.”

There’s no surprise with Madison—he hasn’t been talking to Alex about anything political since he proposed his plan to challenge what James was suggesting—but John Adams? He and Alex have never even pretended to get along. Being in the same party somehow made communicating even worse, and he was surprised when Washington had asked Adams to serve as his VP. But still.

“Put Adams on hold,” Alex decides, “I don’t want to make any decisions quite yet. I’ll talk to Thomas first and see if he can help me get through to Madison, if not, we’ll consider it.”

Jay nods. “Yes, sir. But it will be hard to schedule an immediate appointment because he’s a busy man and he and Burr are still handling the divorce papers.”

“How is Abigail? She stopped coming around after she served him the papers,” Alex says thoughtfully. He’s never liked her husband, but Abigail was always a fun and brilliant person to talk to.

“Busy making health care reform, last I heard.” Jay shrugs. “Adams never mentions her anymore, you’d have better luck speaking to Burr since he’s the lawyer handling it all.”

“I don’t know if I’m _that_ interested,” Alex chuckles. “I’ll check with Angelica, she’ll probably be willing to gossip.”

“Most likely,” Jay agrees, ever polite. “On a different note, the president would like to see you and Secretary Jefferson tomorrow at ten. I moved your eleven o’clock to two in case the meeting went over,” he continues. “He didn’t tell me what he wanted to discuss, but it seemed serious.”

Alex frowns. That doesn’t sound good. “Alright, I’ll be there. Do I need to let Thomas know or . . . ?”

Jay shakes his head. “Sally was informed as well, so he’s probably being informed right now.”

“Alright, thanks, John,” Alex says. He doesn’t miss the way Sally’s name causes his lip to curl in distaste. There was something about her that he _really_ didn’t like. “Is that all?”

“No, sir,” Jay answers. “Your w—” he catches himself before he says it, but Alex still stiffens. “Ms. Schuyler called. She wanted to make sure you knew she and Ms. Reynolds will be heading to New York next weekend and the kids are staying with you.”

Oh, _fuck,_ he totally forgot. He nods. “Anything else?”

“No, that’s all, sir. Is there something you need?”

Hamilton shakes his head. “No, that’ll be all. Thank you.”

Jay nods once before ducking out to work at his desk.

Alex sighs, rubbing his temple as he opens his laptop. How the hell did he forget he was going to have the kids? And is Eliza seriously so petty she couldn’t remind him directly?

He frowns when he realizes it’s probably best she went through Jay. He would’ve forgotten. Like he already did.

Anyway. There are things he needs to do.

 

_Thomas Jefferson: Hey babe, sorry I couldn’t join you for lunch. Dealing with the French ambassador. France thinks us hosting the ball for King George was our way of saying we’d support England if things escalated to war._

Alex is surprised when he gets the text; he hadn’t even realized it was past noon. Shit. Usually Jay takes his lunch break and brings something back for him, but he had asked not to be disturbed unless the building was on fire or the president needed anything.

But he’s okay being disturbed by Thomas, too.

_Alexander Hamilton: But like refusing to welcome him would basically end with us at war??? We can’t just say “hey stupid we don’t want you here” can we?????_

_Thomas Jefferson: That’s what I said! Foreign affairs are shit when you’re trying not to piss anyone off_

_Alexander Hamilton: Try working with the nation’s finances when you’re not actually allowed to control any of them_

_Thomas Jefferson: Well you know your plan rewrites the entire bank system, it’s a huge undertaking especially toward the end of GWash’s term without any support except from him_

_Alexander Hamilton: Well whose fault is that mr. “your plan is stupid hamilton also I’m from the south and my hair is gr9”_

_Thomas Jefferson: How the hell would I say gr9 out loud?? And anyway I think everyone can agree my hair is gr9_

_Alexander Hamilton: Touche_

_Thomas Jefferson: Also babe people are skeptical of how the plan will actually works and afraid it’ll fail or give you the power to bankrupt us all_

_Alexander Hamilton: We’re already practically bankrupt without it???? It’s a nec e s s i t y_   
_Alexander Hamilton: And I go in depth explaining it in the proposal if someone would actually rEAD THE WHOLE THING_

_Thomas Jefferson: Babe_   
_Thomas Jefferson: That plan is way too many damn pages for any man to understand_

_Alexander Hamilton: I understand it_

_Thomas Jefferson: Yeah but sometimes I doubt you’re human_   
_Thomas Jefferson: *most of the time actually_

_Alexander Hamilton: Trueeeee_   
_Alexander Hamilton: I’m a god ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯_

_Thomas Jefferson: Why do I like you_

_Alexander Hamilton: I’m irresistible_

_Thomas Jefferson: Trueeeee_   
_Thomas Jefferson: You’re a god_

_Alexander Hamilton: ;)_

_Thomas Jefferson: Anyway I gotta get back to fixing things with France_

_Alexander Hamilton: If anyone can fix this mess it’s the world’s biggest francophile_

_Thomas Jefferson: Thanks for having faith in me babe_

_Alexander Hamilton: Always_

_Thomas Jefferson: <3_   
_Thomas Jefferson: I am sorry I can’t see you rn though_   
_Thomas Jefferson: Let me make up for it_   
_Thomas Jefferson: Dinner at my place tonight?_

Alex thinks about it for a moment, glancing at his computer and all the work he has to do, then back at his phone. He can make time.

_Alexander Hamilton: You’re on_   
_Alexander Hamilton: As long as you can cook more than mac and cheese_

_Thomas Jefferson: ...I can try_   
_Thomas Jefferson: I’m gonna get you at 6:30 whether or not you’re finished working_

_Alexander Hamilton: Shit I gotta go do a lot of stuff then_   
_Alexander Hamilton: Adios babe_   
_Alexander Hamilton: Good luck_

_Thomas Jefferson: To both of us_

 

Alex refuses to eat Kraft mac and cheese, so they pick up Chinese on the way back. Thomas’s apartment is spacious but lived-in, not quite as flashy as Monticello is rumored to be but still beautiful. Alex almost wants to go to Monticello with Thomas now, a vacation with just the two of them. (He’s skipping the thirty children Peggy was insisting on).

The night is fun and relaxing, but the domesticity of it all makes Alex’s chest ache. The feeling doesn’t go away, even after cuddling up against Thomas as they watch reruns of _Friends_ , or once Thomas brings him into his bedroom and takes him apart piece by piece until he’s begging.

It’s nice, yes, and very enjoyable, but there’s this shadowy fear looming over him and whispering he’ll lose Thomas the way he lost everything else he lov—cared about. Everything he cared about. Right.

So he’s a little anxious when Thomas gets up, even though it’s just to go to the bathroom. He just feels . . . out of place in Thomas’s life. Like he doesn’t belong.

Fuck anxiety.

He forces himself to his feet, pads over to where his phone is. He’s not looking for anything in particular, but being able to pretend he has something to do helps. There are no notifications, though. So he puts down his phone and stands there, awkwardly.

Thomas smiles sleepily down at Alex when he returns, pulling him in for a kiss. This is nice, warm. Safe. “You can stay, you know,” Thomas murmurs into his hair, as if he can read Alex’s thoughts and knows just how to comfort him. “I’m not gonna kick you out.”

Alex nearly sighs in relief as Thomas leads him to the bed and tucks both of them beneath the covers.

He closes his eyes, snuggles into the warm body beside him. Jefferson willingly opens his arms, sighing softly as he leaves a sweet kiss on Alex’s bleary, grateful smile.

“Then I’m gonna stay,” he mumbles.

“Of course.” He can hear the smile in Thomas’s voice.

It falls quiet again as drowsiness slowly fogs up Alex’s brain. He sighs contentedly when his fingers find Thomas’s and his boyfriend shifts, stroking his thumb across the back of Alex’s hand. Thomas sounds a little out of it, but he emphasizes the honesty in his words by holding Alex a little closer, a little tighter, adding, “You can always stay.”

Alex nods and squeezes his eyes shut, trying to find sleep. It finds Jefferson first as his breathing evens out, tickling the hair at the nape of Alex’s neck.

As safe as he feels in Thomas’s arms, the anxious fear brewing in his stomach isn’t quelled. Eyes still closed, he whispers, “Always?” If Thomas had still been awake, he would have heard the uncertainty in the Alex’s voice.

Instead, he sleeps.


	12. Count To Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ok, this is leading to plot development, I swear.
> 
> also, trigger warning for description of a panic attack. basically skip the first half of the chapter if that's not something you're comfortable reading.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who didn't win Hamilton tickets the two weeks they were on the east coast?? this kid. *cries* but guys now Lin and Pippa and Leslie and the Bullet and Jon Rua are all gone :(((((( I miss them already and I never even saw them perform in person lol
> 
> this is unrelated but I'm finally dating this guy I've liked forever so !!!!! very excited :)
> 
> happy reading! <3

The storm comes out of nowhere.

A clap of thunder throws Alex into consciousness as blindingly bright light floods the room for a second. Alex’s breathing is already labored, hand clutched against his chest, blunt nails digging into his sternum, gasping, as he sits up.

_Where is he? How did he get here?_

The panic is already setting in, nasty claws digging into his core, _freezing_ him. Thunder booms and he flinches, whole body shrinking in on himself. _Fuck_.

He’s not drowning. He knows he’s not. He’s completely dry, untouched by the storm, but that’s how it had happened the first time—he’d found refuge, couldn’t seem to die even though nature was trying to drown him—and then it was over. Howling winds replaced by a gentle island breeze, floods became puddles, deluge turned drizzle, dark clouds replaced by rainbows and yellow sky.

Alex’s home was gone, his town destroyed, his entire life uprooted . . . but he was okay.

At least, that’s what he’d thought. But when he started looking for the people he knew, the people he loved, they were nowhere to be found. The hurricane took away everything, killed everyone. And he was alone again.

But that’s all he can focus on, a flash of lightning triggering a flash of memory, the shrieking winds cutting off the scream and cries for help, each thunderclap reminding him he will never be safe. There’s no escaping it.

It’ll always get to him.

He squeezes his eyes shut, balls his hands into fists, digs his fingernails into his skin, unclenches his fist to pull at his hair and cover his ears. Alex draws his knees up to his chest, buries his head until he can’t even tell the difference between lightning strikes and utter darkness.

“It can’t get to you, it can’t get to you, it can’t get to you,” he murmurs repeatedly to himself, chanting, using the mantra to silence the storm.

Ha. Like that’s ever worked.

And then there’s a particularly loud clap, thunder rumbling nonstop. He can feel it.

Knows he shouldn’t, knows it’s not possible to feel a sound but he _does_. The way it shatters him to the bone, whole body tense and shaking. He’s crying; can’t take it because it’s too loud, too much, too painful. He’s exhausted, worn out, but there’s no way he’ll be relaxing.

“It can’t get to you,” he repeats, voice cracking in disbelief, cut off by a whimper. “You’re okay.”

But the rain is still pouring down, faster and faster, constant, pounding. And he can’t _breathe,_ his chest is too tight, too shaky, what little oxygen he can get not nearly enough. He can feel his heart racing in his chest, trying to jump out of his rib cage, throbbing through his headache. His body is going too fast and his mind can’t catch up.

And then a hand is touching his shoulder as lightning lights up the room and he freezes, not melting into the touch but flinching away, shaking his head and refusing to look at the man in bed beside him. Thomas sees, lets his hand fall, but now Alex feels too _cold_ and he doesn’t stop shaking his head.

Thomas understands, somehow, pulls Alex toward him and beneath the covers.

“It’s okay, love,” he whispers softly, one hand stroking through Alex’s hair while the other squeezes one of Alex’s reassuringly. Even as small spoon, wrapped in someone else’s arms, someone he—against his better (well, prior) judgment—trusts, he can’t stop shaking, a little tremor radiating from his core as he hyperventilates.

Thomas holds him a little closer, moving his hand down from Alex’s hair to brush away the tears staining his cheeks. “You’re okay,” he repeats, somehow managing to keep grogginess and concern out of his voice, “I’ve got you.”

And Alex almost believes it, presses himself farther into Thomas, trying his best to match his breathing to the other man’s as he relishes the whispered affirmation that’s somehow louder than the storm.

They stay like that for a while, Thomas soothing Alex, until he’s no longer trembling. But his heart is still beating like a jackhammer, uncomfortably fast, and it’s taking up too much space in his chest. His lungs still can’t draw in the oxygen they crave, and Alex can’t stop himself from trying too hard to breathe. He just ends up gasping for air he can’t quite capture, feeling like a fish out of water even though the water is much scarier than dry land.

“Hey, love,” Thomas whispers softly, “can you do something for me?”

Alex does his best to shrug.

He feels rather than sees Thomas smile. “That’s good, thank you. Will you just focus on counting with me?” he asks. “Nothing big, just to ten. Let’s count to ten, okay?”

And Alex nods. He sees what Thomas is doing, trying to distract him into focusing on something else so his body reflexively resumes normal breathing. Indirect grounding without the pressure some grounding questions have. But he still nods.

“That’s awesome, baby, that’s really awesome,” Thomas whispers. “Are you ready?”

Alex nods again.

“One . . . two . . . three . . .”

He joins Thomas in counting even though he’s overly-conscious of how raw his voice is, how broken he must sound.

“. . . four . . . five. . . six . . .”

Thomas keeps massaging little circles into the palm, loosening the tension in Alex’s muscles.

“. . . seven . . . eight . . . nine . . . ten.”

Thomas presses a kiss to Alex’s still slightly wet cheek. “I’m so proud of you, you’re doing so well,” he murmurs. “So good for me.”

And even through a veil of anxiety, Alex’s chest is filled with a fluttery warmth at Thomas’s words that slowly melts away the frozen discomfort of fear.

“And now we’re going to count back down, okay?” Thomas says, and Alex answers with a small, “Yes.”

“Good, good,” Thomas whispers. “Ready? Let’s go. Ten . . . nine . . .”

They fall asleep some time later, when the storm has died down a bit and Alex manages to relax in Thomas’s arms. Because he knows he’s safe, protected, _cared for_ with Thomas. Because he wants to help, because he wants him to be okay. Alex relishes in the warmth radiating from the taller man’s body, curling into a ball and tucking himself as close to Thomas as possible.

And, oh, god, does he have it bad.

 

Alex groans as the alarm beside Thomas’s bed goes off, forcing both of them awake. Thomas fumbles with the clock for a few seconds as it continues to beep before he finally manages to switch it off. Alex yawns, stretching, as he blinks his eyes open and smiles blearily over at Thomas.

Thomas smiles back at him softly, eyes just a little too concerned, and Alex remembers the previous night.

_Oh, fuck._ He sits up slowly, hand massaging the back of his necks as his cheeks heat up just a bit.

“Look, about last night, I’m sorry I—”

Thomas shakes his head, raising a hand to stop Alex. “I don’t need an explanation, or an apology,” he says softly. “I just wanna make sure you’re okay.”

Alex is still rooted to the spot, unsure of how to respond. That wasn’t exactly the reaction he was prepared for. Well, he’d hoped for it, definitely, but it’s not what he’d been expecting. He was used to the strange looks, the awkward disconnect in conversations, the avoidance of the subject, or the overt curiosity that made him feel more vulnerable than protected, not whatever this is.

“So, are you okay?” Thomas presses gently.

Alex’s brain is short-circuiting—still sleepy and just a little bit shocked—so he nods, voice catching up with him a couple minutes later. “Yeah,” he croaks, probably sounding more relieved than he’d like, “I’m fine."

Thomas beams. “Good! I’m gonna go make myself an omelet for breakfast, do you want one?”

“Uh, sure,” Alex manages. “Thanks.”

“You got it.” Thomas nods as he stands up. “I figured we could drop by your place before we went to work so you’d have a fresh suit,” he adds. “We can leave whenever you want.”

Alex smiles. “That’d be great.”

“Cool.” Jefferson plants a quick kiss against Alex’s lips before leaving for the kitchen.

Alex sits there for a couple seconds, smiling to no one in particular. His phone vibrates a moment later, distracting him from his thoughts.

_Hercules Mulligan: guess who’s back to work todayyyyyyyyyy_   
_Hercules Mulligan: us you loser_

_Alexander Hamilton: Fun stuff_   
_Alexander Hamilton: I’ve missed y’all_

_Hercules Mulligan: “y’all” … are you from the south or something???_   
_Hercules Mulligan: ooh also, man, speaking of the south- there’s a certain guy from south carolina our favorite fighting frenchman is still pissed you hurt_   
_Hercules Mulligan: so i’m just gonna warn you he’s either gonna give you the silent treatment or lecture you until you die_   
_Hercules Mulligan: also he’s my bf so i have to pretend i’m mad at you too_

_Alexander Hamilton: Thanks for the heads up_

_Hercules Mulligan: but just saying i am a bit angry :/ i mean don’t get me wrong it’s hilarious and one of the best things i’ve heard this year (you’re never gonna live this down ever) but john is our best friend_   
_Hercules Mulligan: and you messed up a few times_

_Alexander Hamilton: But he’s with Madison now right?_

_Hercules Mulligan: *jefferson’s voice when he found out you and eliza both had a thing with maria when he eavesdropped on us that day* whaaaaaaaaaaaaa_   
_Hercules Mulligan: he is??????????????????????????????????_

_Alexander Hamilton: Guess I’m not the only one with a secret boyfriend_

_Hercules Mulligan: … gtg man me and laf have ourselves a southerner to interrogate_

_Alexander Hamilton: Have fun_

 

Alex and Jefferson enter the White house a little later than they normally do, but still earlier than most people, Lafayette— who's texting furiously on his phone, presumably to John—and Mulligan tailing Alex for the first time since their vacation and Thomas’s security detail right beside them. Alex is already talking in a rapid fire series of reminders and questions, not able to shut up.

“—Do you know if Madison will be in today? I really need to talk to him about the debt plan but if I so much as mention anything political he literally plugs his ears and says ‘la la la, I can’t hear you, Hammy.’ Even if we’re texting, he’ll do that. I have, like, three different videos of him being a giant child. The only communication we have is literally him sending me memes and me responding with the _Bee Movie_ script. It’s awful. Modern day politics are just _awful_ ,” he complains. “Don’t get me wrong, he only sends the best memes and I love him for that, but he’s my in with the southern portion of Congress and I really don’t want to have to negotiate with John Adams. The man gives me the creeps, and without him being married to Abigail—she’s amazing, man, I don't know if you’ve ever met her, but wow. Force of nature. Anyway, Adams just stares like . . . ew. I can’t help but think he’s ogling me.” Alex shudders. “Damn motherfuckstick.”

Thomas laughs. “The hell is a motherfuckstick?”

Alex glares at the ground. “John Adams, that old ingrate.”

Jefferson just rolls his eyes.

“Moving on! Don’t forget we have to meet with the president at ten. I don’t really know what it’s about, but Jay said it seemed important so we probably don’t want to be late. . . .” Alex trails off, frowning when Jefferson stops walking. “Thomas?”

Jefferson straightens, then sighs and slumps back down, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Alex, we need to talk,” he says shortly.

The words themselves are enough to make Alex flinch, but it’s the completely emotionless, serious tone Jefferson uses that makes him freeze. 

_What did he do wrong?_ he wonders. _Is this . . . Is Thomas . . ._

He thought things were finally going good, he thought . . . He doesn’t know what he thought, but obviously, it was wrong.

Alex tries his best to swallow the fear rising to the back of his throat, taking a deep albeit shaky breath. _It’ll be okay, You’ll be okay._ Jefferson had said something similar last night.

_Last night._ What if that scared him off? What if he doesn’t want to deal with someone who constantly needs reassurement and trigger warnings with the daily forecast?

Eliza had gotten annoyed with it when they had begun to drift away, John’s PTSD combined with his anxiety had created a rift between them when they first got together after serving in the army, and back on the island his attacks had led to the—

_No._

_Count, just count. Don’t focus on the hypotheticals, the what-ifs, the if-onlys. You’re going to be just fine. So count. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten._

Alex nods at Thomas as naturally as he can manage, only able to force a smile onto his face with his fingernails digging sharp crescents into his palm.

“Of course,” he answers. “What’s up?”

Thomas glances around nervously, fixing his already perfect tie. “We shouldn’t talk here,” he says as people mill around them. “It’s too sensitive a subject,” he adds upon seeing Alex’s confused expression, and yeah, that doesn’t help relieve the tension one bit.

“Come on, we can go to my office,” Jefferson suggests, grabbing Alex’s trembling hand and pulling him toward the State Department.

Alex hopes his sweaty palms don’t give away the panic weaving itself through his fingers as Thomas holds onto his hand just a little tighter. He’s walking quickly, like he just wants to get this conversation over with, and Alex can’t help but drag his heels just a little.

This can’t be good.


	13. I'm Sorry, What?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they talk *dun dun dUuUuuUUUnNNnNNN*
> 
> (((please tell me this counts as plot)))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh I’m sorry I felt so mean for the last chapter so that’s why this is early  
> also my first official date is tomorrow I cri (of happiness) ((but also pls someone help me I've had a girlfriend before but we never really went on a date because we had too much stuff going on and couldn't actually see each other which is why we broke up even though we're still really good friends but like yeah I don't know how this works))  
> and on another note I have no idea how I’m gonna end this fic rip me :/ I have like a few plot ideas but after that no idea lmao whoops (but I won’t abandon this or half ass the ending I swear)  
> anyway, I love to hear from you guys! thank you for everything so far :) happy reading! <3

Alex’s heart is beating so hard when Jefferson finally closes the door behind them that he can feel it pounding through his temples, right behind his skull. It’s dizzying.

He clears his throat, nervously. “So,” he manages to choke out, the rest of his words a little too jumbled, “what do you want to talk about?” Alex tries to focus on tapping a rhythmless pattern on his thigh, fingers jittery, instead of looking Thomas in the eye.

“Us,” Thomas says simply, and Alex’s heart stops.

“Oh,” he whispers. “What about us?” And even though he’s speaking, his voice sounds nothing like normal. It’s echoey, distant, like he’s hearing it from outside of his own body.

Jefferson glances over at him, and he must notice just how much panic is straining Alex’s tone because his eyes widen and he shakes his head vigorously, walking back towards Alex and resting his hands on his shoulders. “Oh, no, no, baby, it’s nothing bad,” he murmurs, stroking along Alex’s upper arms as soothingly as he can. “I swear this isn’t anything bad, okay? Nothing between us is bad, yeah? We’re okay, you’re okay,” he whispers, pressing a warm, slightly apologetic kiss to Alex’s forehead, “nothing’s wrong.”

Alex would be lying if he said that his shoulders didn’t slump in relief with Thomas’s hands on him, that the fearful tremor building through his body didn’t begin to dissipate, that his breaths didn’t even out until they were normal and steady. But he’d also be lying if he said he completely believed Thomas. Because if nothing was wrong, what’s the point of having a private conversation about “us”? When he’s able to, Alex lifts his eyes warily, still just a tad concerned about their conversation even with Thomas’s reassurement.

Thomas is frowning, eyes full of worry. “Oh, baby, I’m so sorry; I didn’t mean to scare you at all,” he mutters, lifting a hand to brush a thumb over Alex’s cheek in a warm caress. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, pressing another kiss to Alex’s temple. “This is about us in a way, but I swear it has nothing to do with anything bad. We’re doing great, yeah? You and I are _perfect_.”

Alex leans into the attention before clearing his throat again. He does his best to nod, trying to regain control of his voice and keep the remaining anxiety out of the picture. “So, if it’s not anything like that,” he mumbles, “what do we need to discuss?”

Thomas eyes darken just a fraction. “The future.”

Alex frowns as he looks up at Thomas. _Wouldn’t that have been more appropriate to talk about before they’d gone to the office?_

“Especially when it comes to work,” Jefferson continues slowly, careful to gauge Alex’s reaction in hopes he won’t freak him out like he’d done (accidentally) just moments before. Alex’s frown deepens.

“What do you mean about work? I don’t think anyone is bothered by our relationship, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he says. “Of course, Charles Lee probably is but he’s a racist, homophobic ass, and people are beginning to realize just how outdated his views are so I’m sure that’ll never affect us. Especially when he’s barely in the office since he’s too busy campaigning for the presidency. Plus, I mean, we have the support of the president, we’re two of the most important Cabinet members, we’ve got friends—all with rainbow qualifications of some sort—all throughout government and our political careers have been founded with heavy support for the LGBTQ community so it’s not a huge surprise or anything. And even if we’re technically breaking that ‘don’t date your coworker rule’, well, you know, that’s not really something I think we need to care about since th—”

“Alex,” Thomas interrupts softly, wearing a fond smile. Alex stops himself mid-sentence, scowling down at his dress shoes; he never seems to be able to shut up. “That’s not what I was thinking of,” Jefferson continues, “but it does have a little to do with Charles Lee.”

“Oh?” Hamilton prompts.

“Washington and I have been talking,” he explains. “Normally, our views don’t align since he’s more of an independent than a member of our party, but we do have similar objectives and we’ve decided to join forces in order for us to accomplish them. The president’s second term is coming to a close and he’s not up for reelection, but a clear candidate hasn’t stepped forward for us yet even though the campaign trail is hot. Don’t get me wrong—we all know Lee is running next year, and he’s got strong backing from the rich conservatives, but no one has started campaigning for the liberals.”

Alex’s eyes are wide. _Is Thomas getting at what he thinks? Is he . . . Is he being serious?_

“I’m sorry, what?”

Thomas rakes a hand through his hair, letting out a sharp exhale. “I gave Washington my letter of resignation on Friday,” he reveals, speaking slowly as if he’s still a little disbelieving of it as well. “He’s calling us in because he has accepted it, and wants to discuss what we’re going to do in the future—in regards to how our relationship will develop in the public eye, as well as endorsements, what will happen when Deputy Monroe steps up to be Head of the State Department, how and when to announce my resignation; that sort of thing.”

Alex can’t stop staring, his head is spinning, mouth open in shock just slightly. _Holy fucking hell. Is this actually happening?_

“Thomas, please, can you just tell me what you’re trying to say?” he asks quietly, barely above a whisper. “Are you . . . what is this?”

Thomas takes a deep breath, smiles gently . “I’m stepping down,” he says softly. “I’m stepping down so I can run for president.”

Alex’s breath catches in his throat, a million responses on the tip of his tongue even though nothing comes out. All he can do is blink and gape as he manages to regain control of his voice.

“Well, fuck.”

 

Washington smiles when they enter the Oval Office, taking note of Hamilton’s still-stunned expression and uncharacteristic silence before nodding to Jefferson. “I take it you told him?” he says, but it’s more of a statement than a question.

Thomas laughs before glancing down at his boyfriend. “Yeah, he’s still processing.”

“I don’t think he’s ever been quiet for this long,” Washington agrees. “But, on to the business at hand.” He steps away from his desk and gestures for Alex and Thomas to take their seat on one of the couches. He sits on the other, across the large seal on the floor, before continuing, “Secretary Jefferson, your resignation has been officially recognized by everyone who needs to know, but it’s still being kept under wraps.”

Thomas nods, swallowing hard. This is still a lot to take in. Unconsciously, Alex inches his hand toward Thomas’s until their fingers are tangled together, leaning into the taller man’s side. He plants a soft kiss to the corner of Jefferson’s jaw, a reminder he’s still there for him. Thomas smiles softly.

Washington clears his throat and Alex blushes at the PDA.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, and Thomas squeezes his hand.

Washington continues. “There shouldn’t be even the hint of a rumor regarding your resignation, let alone your run. The only thing the media has right now is speculation, so if anyone approaches you, don’t comment unless the press secretary is instructing you but more importantly don’t react to their questions. We just need to keep this quiet for a little bit longer. In addition to that, Angelica is already working on outlining a statement to be released to the press at six regarding your resignation. She isn’t announcing your candidacy—we thought that should be left up to you—but there will still be questions. Thomas Paine is a brilliant man and one of the nosiest reporters I’ve met in my decades of service; he knows exactly what and who to ask. So,” he says, “I’d suggest you two find your way home before Ms. Schuyler briefs the press, unless you want to make life hell for you and your security detail. I’m sure no one would be too happy about that except for the reporters.”

Jefferson nods in agreement. “Of course, sir. I have one issue to discuss with Monroe, but I’ll most likely be finished after that.”

Alex nods along, “For sure. I have a two o’clock I can’t miss because we already rescheduled once, but when that’s over I can leave.”

“Good, good,” Washington murmurs. “I want you guys both out of the building by four. Hamilton, I’m talking to you when I say this: none of your ‘wait, just one more thing’ nonsense. Once you guys have resolved those matters, gone to your meetings, whatever, you have the rest of the day off. But please stay in. It’s gonna be crazy, especially if Lee mentions Secretary Jefferson at his rally tonight. Which is likely, because he seems to enjoy shitting on my administration and my employees, and he’s a narcissistic bigot who hates pretty much everything you stand for. So once news reaches him, his speech tonight will most likely consist of him slandering your name, your relationship, and the LGBT and black communities as a whole. Be ready for that.”

Jefferson nods, and Hamilton is just about to open his mouth to say something when Washington holds up a hand to stop him.

“Alex, you need to be careful as well. Since your relationship is going to become a very public thing—you’ll most likely be forced into an early endorsement, which I hope is no big deal. I know you’d choose Jefferson over Lee any day—”

Alex nods his agreement, rubbing his thumb in circles on Thomas’s palm.

“—but because there’s a chance you’ll become our . . . FLOTUS, I guess,” the president says as Thomas snickers, “you cannot rise to the bait. Lee and his supporters are going to be vicious. They’ll spread rumors, lies, attack you personally and professionally, most likely bring up your past in terms of St. Croix and Maria.”

Alex winces at those.

“But you _cannot_ respond,” Washington insists, voice dead serious. “Or if you do, you do it with Angelica’s permission only. No unscripted debates, no ‘anonymously published’ sources, no screaming at reporters, or yelling at Charles Lee in the White House halls. You need to be on your absolute best behavior,” he states firmly. “No repeat of the Federalist Papers, no Reynolds Pamphlet, you don’t publish or say anything without the approval of our press office, got it?”

Hamilton frowns, glaring at the eagle on the ground, but he still nods. “Yes, sir.”

“Good, very good. Now, Thomas . . .” he begins, but Alex tunes him out.

Washington is right. This is a huge thing for Thomas, and no way in hell is Alex going to be the one to fuck it all up for him. They’re going to succeed, they’re going to give it all, they’re going to figure it out. Together. They’re going to make it work, together.

Alex isn’t sure how long they’ll last, but he’s hoping it’ll be for a very long time. So what if this isn’t the most traditional campaign? The first openly gay presidential candidate who could become the first unmarried president, possibly with a male partner as his First Lady? Piece of cake.

But seriously, what would Alex call himself? First Man sounds weird, and there’s no way to pronounce that. _”Oh, look, it’s the FMOTUS.”_ Wow. It just falls off the tongue. Would partner work? FPOTUS? No, sounds like a wannabe POTUS, and does First Partner even make sense? huh. Nope. Maybe . . . Maybe they could take it back a couple centuries and make him First Lad of the United States? Keeps the FLOTUS going . . . But if that didn’t work, what would? He’s not the husband so FHOTUS is out of the question. Does he . . . does he want to be Thomas’s husband?

It’s literally been three days, but he’s known him for a lot of his life. Seen him almost every day. Apparently been attracted to him for that long, too, so. Would he really mind? Being Thomas’s husband? It’s not like—

“Alex!” Jefferson calls, waving a hand in front of his face. “Babe, you in there?”

Hamilton startles, blinking between Washington and Thomas before remembering what they’re talking about. He blushes. His thoughts got a little (let’s be real, a lot) off track. “Yeah, sorry, what?”

Thomas shakes his head fondly. “We’re talking about what you want to do during the campaign. You can continue on as Treasury Secretary while I travel—the next couple months I’ll probably stay in D.C. to start organizing the campaign, of course—but when I start campaigning nationally and do a rally tour, I probably won’t be around as much. So, I mean, it’s always totally up to you, but you can come with me and stuff, or stay here. There’s a lot of things to think about when you’re making your decision, of course; if you come with me you’ll most likely need to take a break from the majority of your duties, which means the debt plan might not get accepted this term, but as president I’d support it without a doubt, possibly suggest a few minor adjustments first, but I’d reappoint you as Head of Treasury again—assuming that’s the position you’d want, of course—and I’d make sure you got Madison and more of Congress on board. Until then, though, the president will offer paid leave, if you came with me, but it’d make other things harder, as well. Like spending time with your kids might be a little bit different.” Thomas frowns at his own words. “So it’s your choice one hundred percent, and not something anyone expects you to decide on anytime soon, but we’re just trying to give you possibilities for how we can make this work. And—” His frown deepens and he cuts himself off.

“This is, of course, assuming you want to stay together while this runs its course,” he murmurs, voice suddenly quiet, devoid of confidence and that normal upbeat tone. “Because, I completely understand if this would put too much of a strain on things and you’d rather avoid the hassle—”

“Hey, Thomas,” Alex interrupts, softly, and he’s surprised to see how much the roles have changed since last night. Now he’s the one providing comfort. “I definitely want to stay together. I probably won’t make decision until I really have to, but when I’ll do it’ll be one that makes sure things work between the two of us. And yeah, things might be a little hectic, and I know it won’t be the easiest set of circumstances to wade our way through, but we’ll figure it out.”

Jefferson actually lets out a sigh of relief and tightens his grip on Alex’s hand by a fraction. Hamilton squeezes back.

“Really? You think so?” Thomas asks, and he sounds just as uncertain as Alex had felt last night and it kills him just a little bit. But he smiles nonetheless, trying to convince both of them it’ll all be okay.

“I know so,” Alex answers, only a little aware of Washington shifting uncomfortably on the couch across from them as he watches two of his Cabinet members stare into each other’s eyes. “I know we’ll figure it out.”

And as they fall back into their conversation with Washington, trying to plan the basics out before the overwhelming speed of the campaign try whisks them away, Alex can’t help but smile just a little. He feels a little more at ease now, a little more confident. Because Thomas is beside him, and together, they’re going to work it out. Together, they always will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one last thing- this isn't beta read so all mistakes and errors are all mine, but if you notice anything really bad feel free to point it out! that might also be why some parts feel weird since I have trouble rereading my own work for some reason :/  
> okay, that's all! have a great day/evening wherever you are :)


	14. Pay For His Behavior

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> there's a stucky reference in here because I'm marvel trash  
> pls enjoy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everyone who commented good luck on my date and stuff, I really appreciate it!!!! <3 for anyone wondering, it went really well :)) we basically just went out for lunch and then netflix and chilled (minus the creepy sexual connotations literally we just cuddled and binged on criminal minds) and it was super fun!! and he's comfortable enough to take his binder off in front of me and I was screaming internally because I'm really glad he's cool doing that and he's just so c u t e and perfect and too pure for this world and I just ??? want to hug him and hold his hand forever?? so yeah he's pretty great
> 
> also LMM is gonna be on drunk history!!!!!! I'm so excited but I have to figure out how to watch it since we got rid of cable ://
> 
> (((and I'm super sorry there's been more than a week between updates; I got really busy all of a sudden and there was no warning? with school coming up and summer assignments, things might be getting crazy, but you can expect at least two updates a month! I'll do my best to fit in more though <3)))

The rest of the day goes by in a blur, like Alex is stuck in some sort of euphoric daze. He relishes in it, lets the adrenaline wash over him. He knows it’ll wear off eventually. He knows that’s when the dread will set in and he’ll try to back out of commitment the way he always does.

Alex can’t let it set in.

He finishes his two o’clock at twenty to three and immediately packs up his belongings, too jittery to focus on anything else and knowing full well Thomas is probably ready to leave and waiting. Alex is a little confused when Herc and Lafayette aren’t outside the door, leaving him without any security. Not that he’s worried anything will ever happen to him in the White House, of course, it’s more that he’s worried about what they might be getting up to. Especially if they’re getting up to certain activities that involve the abandoned storage closet on the far end of the West Wing near the Cabinet Room.

Alex glances at the clock on John Jay’s desk before over to the man himself, frowning. “John, do you know where Mulligan and Lafayette are?”

Jay looks like he’s struggling to keep from bursting into laughter, looking away from his computer to make eye contact with Alex, somehow managing to continue typing whatever it is he’s working on. Alex sighs.

_Oh, fuck. What have they gotten themselves into?_

“They mentioned something about a couple of Virginians and shovel talks,” Jay reveals through a thinly-veiled chuckle, shaking his head in amusement as his fingers fly across the keys. “They didn’t leave too long ago, so if you hurry you can probably manage to do some damage control.” He snorts.

Alex groans. “They said a couple Virginians, right?”

John nods, taking a break from his work as he’s unable to suppress his smile no matter how hard he tries.

“Do you know who they’re going to . . . speak to first?” Alex wonders, scowling as Jay shrugs.

“Madison and Jefferson still work pretty closely,” he reminds Alex, “so if you’re lucky, you’ll find them all at once. Otherwise probably Jefferson because they hate him more.”

Alex can’t argue with that, so he just pinches the bridge of his nose, letting out another frustrated groan. “Oh my _god_ , I’m going to kill Herc and Laf both.”

Jay lets out a short laugh. “Well, sir, you better start moving if you wanna get there before Secret Service beats you to it when they’re found threatening your boyfriend and our beloved Congressman. Technically, it’s a little bit illegal.”

_“Technically,”_ Alex scoffs. “Mother _fuck_ stick, those goddamn fools, I can’t believe they’re this fucking _idiotic_. The dipshits can’t even—” He cuts himself off when he notices the odd look he’s getting from his assistant, who obviously finds this entire situation far more funny than Hamilton does. “Right, yes, I’ll be on my way, then,” he mutters stiffly, tightening his grip on his briefcase. “Don’t stay late, John. You have the rest of the day off if you want it.”

Jay nods courteously. “Thank you, sir. Will you be in tomorrow?”

“Most likely, unless we work from home,” Alex says. He frowns at how easily the ‘we’ slips off his tongue in the same sentence as ‘home.’ “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I gotta go make sure the janitors don’t have to clean blood out of the carpet.”

“Good luck, sir,” Jay snickers as he returns to his computer, looking all too amused with the situation.

Alex glares at his feet as he walks away. “I’ll need it.”

 

With narrowed eyes and an annoyed huff, Sally Hemings instructs Alex to look for Jefferson around the SecDef’s office, not even bothering to accept his thank you. She doesn’t seem all that likable, and Alex doesn’t see the appeal of a hostile assistant, but he does as she says anyway.

He won’t admit he gets lost, but there’s more hallways than he remembers and it takes Alex a little to even find the Defense Department. He never got along with the SecDef, so he would always manage to convince Thomas to negotiate for him. Which is kind of sweet when he thinks about it. They hated each other, but Thomas still went the extra mile. He smiles to himself.

It’s very sweet.

He’s about to text Jay and beg for directions when he hears a familiar voice, and he can’t help but feel a little relief as he follows it down toward a hall that’s surprisingly empty, save for three familiar forms. He didn’t think halls in the White House were ever empty at this time of day, but then again, he’s usually working past seven so it’s not like he can actually speak from experience. This is a few hours earlier than he ever leaves his office.

“I would never hurt him,” Thomas is swearing. “He means the world to me.”

And Alex’s heart swells a little at that as his cheeks heat up and he wants to go charging in to kiss him, but instead he inches closer to the wall hiding in the shadows. Because as much as he wants to come to Thomas’s rescue, who wouldn’t want to hear this? He’s intrigued by what Laf and Herc will say since he’s relatively inexperienced when it comes to shovel talks; he’s never had to give any, and he’s only been on the receiving end of one—which was horrible, because Peggy and Angelica were downright vicious and went through a detailed description of each and every way they would castrate and kill him if he ever laid a finger on Eliza. He’s still a little scared they’ll come after him for everything he did wrong, if he’s being honest. But Eliza got a really serious relationship out of it, so he’s probably safe . . .

He tries not to think about that, instead focusing on the events unfolding before him. He can’t help his curiosity.

“Be that as it may, you break his heart, we break your bones,” Hercules says, no, _snarls_ , and something about it makes Alex want to laugh. It just seems so _ridiculous_. “Even if you do something accidentally, _anything_ you do to hurt Alex you’ll have to pay for.”

Layette nods his agreement, the bun at the back of his head doing the same. “Mm, you see, I have forty acres of land in a rural province of France, mon ami,” Alex hears, and Lafayette sounds downright deadly. “It is completely—how you say— _off the grid_. No one will hear you scream,” he whispers, and Alex has to strain his ears to determine the words. “No one will find your body.”

Thomas’s face isn’t betraying any emotion, but his eyes are wide and Alex is torn between laughing at how serious Hercules and Lafayette are and wanting to scream a battle cry and protect Thomas. Which are two very different options, so he settles on a compromise of sorts.

“Whoa, whoa, guys!” Alex interjects, half-running and half-walking over to them. He gently puts his hands on their shoulders and pull them away from Thomas. “What are you guys doing?”

Lafayette stares him down, entirely unashamed. “Letting Monsieur Jefferson know we’re not afraid of murdering a government official if it comes to that,” he answers. Hercules nods along solemnly, and Jefferson can’t seem to decide what he wants to do.

Alex just laughs.

“We’re being serious!” Lafayette insists, frowning.

“I know,” Alex says breathlessly, shoulders shaking the harder he laughs. “That’s why it’s so funny.”

“But—”

Alex shakes his head, covering his mouth with his hand. He can’t seem to stop laughing. “It’ll be fine, you guys, I can take care of myself.”

The three of them just stare at him for a long moment as he sobers up and silence falls. And then Hercules starts laughing, and Lafayette and Jefferson follow.

“Alex, you’re probably the only person on this entire planet who can’t actually take care of himself,” Herc chuckles. “And you’re, like, three feet tall, what are you gonna do? Talk his ears off until he’s begging for mercy?”

Lafayette actually fucking _guffaws_ and Alex scowls, planting his feet firmly and placing his hands on his hips as he stands up straighter. “I can take care of myself, thank you very much,” he seethes, narrowing his eyes at them. Somehow it went from threatening Thomas to making fun of Alex, and he really doesn’t like it. _“Anyway,”_ he mutters, “now that it’s been established I’m a perfectly capable human being, why don’t we all move on?”

“Whatever you say, man.”

Alex flips them off.

 

They’re out of the White House earlier than Alex remembers leaving any time recently, but it feels nice for some reason. Because everyone else is stuck inside, cramped and working, and he’s already heading home with the intent to have a lazy evening with a guy he really, really likes. (Admittedly, a guy he never thought he’d ever spend time with outside of the office, but it’s relaxing nonetheless.)

They decide to go to Alex’s apartment since it’s closer than Jefferson’s place, and Thomas explains he has a few emails he needs to send to people who helped run his first campaigns in an attempt to recruit them. Alex nods absentmindedly, mind on his own projects.

But despite that, the second they reach the apartment, Alex is curled into Thomas’s lap on the couch and the TV is on and no work is being done. It’s domestic, cozy, and Alex loves it.

They stay like that, wrapped around each other, for a few hours, flipping through channels whenever something gets boring. At some point, though, Thomas gets up to find food—he digs a box of Kraft mac and cheese from the pantry, and Alex really doesn’t want to know how long it’s been in there—and they eat as they watch _Captain America: The First Avenger_ on HBO. They should probably be watching the news and looking for Angelica’s statement, but this is so much better and Alex snuggles into Thomas’s chest as the taller of the two mutters something about the overwhelming sexual tension between Steve and Bucky and encourages them to “just fucking _kiss_ already.”

It’s pretty awesome.

Sometime later they get too distracted by each other’s mouths to focus on the movie, and make their way toward the bedroom, leaving a trail of clothing in their wake.

That’s pretty awesome, too.

Thomas laughs as Alex voices his thoughts, both men staring up at the ceiling.

“Yeah,” he agrees, and they lapse into silence.

“The kids come over Friday evening,” Alex whispers abruptly, and Thomas nods in acknowledgement.

“And?” he prompts. He can almost hear the cogs whirring in Alex’s brain. Alex can feel them, can feel his heart fluttering unevenly in his chest as he strings more thoughts together.

He rolls onto his side so that he’s facing Thomas, brow creased. “Do you . . . Would you like to join us? Family dinner?” he blurts a little awkwardly.

One of Thomas’s eyebrows quirks up just a little bit, but he doesn’t address the fact Alex just referred to him as a part of his family. “So instead of meeting the parents I’ll be meeting the kids,” Thomas muses, nothing in his tone giving away how he feels, and Alex nods nervously.

“Exactly,” he mumbles meekly, dropping his eyes from Thomas’s face to avoid gauging a reaction he doesn’t want to see.

“Well,” Thomas begins, inching just a little closer and pulling Alex toward him until the smaller of the two can see the soft smile gracing his features, “if you’re sure I’m not intruding, I would love to meet them.”

Alex lets out a small sigh of relief; he’d been bracing for a different answer. “Really?”

“Really, really,” Thomas confirms. “Now c’mon, let’s get some sleep. I have to make sure my campaign manager from all those years ago is still willing to help me tomorrow, since I didn’t get around to it today. And there are lots of jobs and interviews and donors I’ll need to start handling. I haven’t run for office in a while, so things are going to get crazy, for both us, and I want to make sure it goes as smoothly as possible.”

Alex nods in agreement, resting his head on Thomas’s chest as the other man loops an arm around him. “And I’ll help you in every way I can.”

“You know, you’re really good at helping me relax,” Thomas says, running his fingers through Alex’s hair. _“Really_ good, if you know what I mean.”

Alex rolls his eyes. “Oh my _god,”_ he huffs. “Go to bed and maybe I’ll help you relax some more in the morning,” he mumbles, shutting his eyes.

“I look forward to it.” Alex hates and loves how smug Thomas sounds when he answers. “Good night, baby.”

“Night, Thomas,” he whispers.

Alex sleeps better with Thomas beside him.


	15. Ms. Maria Reynolds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sneak peak with one of the kids! more to come soon :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this has taken so long! I know my notes are usually pretty long so I’ll try to keep it brief (watch me fail):  
> 1\. I’m so obsessed with “congratulations” right now and I wish it had made it into the musical  
> 2\. I’m working on a lams oneshot! I’ve been distracted by that which is why this hasn’t gotten much attention  
> 3\. my bf is currently over five thousand miles away and he won’t be home for a couple more weeks :/ but we got to talk the other day so that was super nice! (also for those of you who care about my love life updates- our one month anniversary is in two days! screams)  
> that’s all! thank you for all of your feedback/kudos/comments/questions. a couple people brought their concerns to me last chapter, and I was super happy to help! if you have anything you’d like to discuss, don’t hesitate! I won’t bite, I promise. enjoy <3

Alex wakes up to find one half of his bed empty and the covers strewn about messily. He frowns as he sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Hello?” he calls, glancing at the clock. Someone turned off his alarm (Thomas, probably, unless there’s some creeper in his apartment or he was just so out of it he didn’t actually register his actions), and it’s later than he usually sleeps in. Which would explain why there’s so much light flooding the room. And also why he feels so rested for once.

“In the kitchen!” Thomas yells back. “You seriously need to go shopping before you have the kids over, babe, you have the randomest assortment of energy drinks but, like, no real food.”

Alex rolls his eyes, slipping out of bed and padding out of his room while still in his pajamas. “Well, I hate shopping,” he mutters as he enters the kitchen, surprised to see Thomas cooking in a dress shirt and slacks. He suddenly feels underdressed, even though he’s in his own house. And something in his heart swells just a little bit when he realizes how domestic this set-up is—Thomas already making himself at home and cooking him breakfast the way Eliza used to do for him. Alex wonders, just for a second, if Thomas used to do this with his wife, before she passed away. He never talks about her, and Alex never knew her. She’s been gone for years.

He shakes those thoughts away, not wanting to focus on Thomas’s ex when he’s been so sweet and understanding when it comes to Eliza and the kids. Instead he inhales deeply, relishing in the aroma of a home-cooked meal. Alex had never been much of a chef, and takeout had quickly become a staple when he was back on his own.

“Mm, what are you making?” he wonders, nuzzling up to Thomas who leans back against him. “Smells delicious,” Alex adds.

“It’s literally just a cheese omelette and bacon. Super simple ingredients,” Thomas says like the smartass he is, but he hums contentedly when Alex presses a kiss against the corner of his jaw, leaning down to kiss him properly before continuing. “None of which you had, by the way, Jones had to pick up some food when he was getting my suit from my place.”

Alex frowns. “Jones?”

“You know, tall dude. Slightly intimidating. Secret Service. Never says anything. He’s got the cool hair?”

Alex shrugs. “I’d probably recognize him, but I can’t picture him off the top of my head.”

“You’ll probably meet him eventually, so it doesn’t matter now,” Thomas says. “Anyway, can you grab us plates? Breakfast is basically ready.” Alex nods, reaching into one of the cabinets to pull down two plates before grabbing the silverware.

“Are you cool if we eat in the living room so we can turn on the TV?” Jefferson asks as he serves them both. “I want to know what we missed last night and if they’re saying anything.”

“Course,” Alex answers, grabbing his plate. He follows Thomas to the couch, setting his plate down as he grabs the remote. “CNN, MSNBC, local news?”

“Uh, CNN annoys me so let’s avoid that.” Thomas shrugs. “Local, I guess? If Paine is on, he’ll probably be recapping last night.”

Alex nods, flipping through the guide until he finds the right channel before settling into the couch, pressed up right next to Thomas, with his plate balanced precariously on his lap. “Oh, my _God_ ,” he moans as he takes a bite of his omelette, glancing at Thomas, “this is delicious, shit. I haven’t had a real home cooked meal in ages.”

Thomas snorts shaking his head. “Well, I’m glad you like it,” he says with a smile as they shift their attention back to the television.

There’s a clip of Angelica speaking to the White House press, but a picture of a reporter speaking over the video dominates the screen. “Yesterday evening, Virginian politician Thomas Jefferson, who has been the head of America’s State Department for nearly eight years, announced he is stepping down from his position in order to run for president,” she says as she flashes a smile at the camera. “While his resignation doesn’t seem like a surprise to many of our government officials, his candidacy may have been an unexpected factor to those who were already aware of Jefferson’s plan to leave, as no one who worked with him has made a comment on this development. Press Secretary Schuyler never specifically addressed his candidacy, instead focusing on Deputy James Monroe, who is now taking over the State Department in Jefferson’s absence.

“However, Jefferson’s publicists released their own statement immediately after—very similar to Schuyler’s in that it mentioned his resignation and Monroe taking the reins—but it also revealed Jefferson’s intentions to run. His campaign has already garnered much attention and support from young liberals and people of color, despite no further comment from Jefferson or any other close sources. Surprisingly enough, Secretary Hamilton—normally very open and extremely vocal—has remained silent so far, but many have speculated that he will support Jefferson’s campaign because of their relationship and his open dislike of Charles Lee.

“Even though it’s still early in the race, Jefferson seems to be a well-matched adversary for Lee, who spent much of last night’s rally convincing attendees he would be the most successful candidate if he and Jefferson were to win the nomination for their respective parties. Whether it works is something we’ll have to wait and see. Tom, back to you.”

“Thank you, Marguerite,” Paine says as the camera pans back to him. “In other news, France and England still seem to be on uneasy terms although—”

Alex tunes the reporter out, looking over at his boyfriend. Thomas doesn’t seem fazed at all, he just continues to eat his breakfast calmly.

Alex wants to ask how he’s processing this. He wants to ask whose idea this was. He wants to ask if this is something he’s wanted for a long time. He wants to ask what they’ll do if he gets elected. If he doesn’t. But something stops him. “Do you have a lot of work you need to do today?”

“Yeah,” Thomas says with a sigh. “After today, actually, I’m not sure how much we’ll see each other the rest of this week. Launching a campaign is a lot of work and effort, and my manager hasn’t even committed yet.”

Alex nods wearily, knee bouncing up and down. It’s shaking his plate so he tries to stop, but his toes keep tapping. He can’t stop fidgeting for some reason.

“But I promise I’ll be here Friday for dinner,” Thomas says in that soothing voice he only seems to put on for Alex. “What time were you thinking?”

“Not sure yet, but probably around five thirty, six? The littles still have early bedtimes,” he explains, finishing up his omelette.

Thomas beams at him. “Perfect! I’ll be there.”

Alex can’t help smiling back as he sets down his plate, tilting his head as he looks over at Thomas. “So, if this week is gonna be hectic, I do think I promised I’d help you relax,” he murmurs, tone just a little too suggestive.

Thomas licks his lips as he grins. “Did you, now?”

 

Alex doesn’t have any urgent business to handle at the White House, so he shoots John Jay a quick text once Jefferson is gone to his meetings before booting up his laptop and turning the TV to whatever movie is playing on HBO. He pulls up a couple documents and details for his debt plan before getting to work.

Alex’s heart doesn’t _stop_ per se when he notices he missed two texts from John, but he does freeze for a moment, all of the thoughts in his head clamoring to a stop for a brief second before even more start vying for his attention.

Alex misses John. A lot. Not romantically or anything, but platonically. As someone to laugh with, and talk about relationships with. As a friend. Because John’s been his best friend since Alex first found his way into America, but now he’s not so sure if John even wants that title. Hell, he’s not even sure if he still has a right to call him a friend at all.

Because Alex messed it all up over a lie he was to stubborn to fess up to, and when he finally realized “oh, I should probably fix this,” he didn’t. Because he’s such a fucking _idiot_ sometimes.

But John seems okay now, right? He’s got James, and if anybody were to treat him nice, it’d be James. James is awesome.

And Alex’s hands are _so_ not shaking as he unlocks his phone.

_John Laurens: Did something happen at the white house yesterday?? James is super uncomfortable whenever I mention laf and herc????_   
_John Laurens: So like should I be worried? Bc I already am_

Alex’s fingers fly across the keys so naturally he doesn’t think his answers sound forced. Correction: he desperately hopes his answers don’t sound forced.

_Alexander Hamilton: Oh ahahha yeah I meant to tell you that it’s very likely they gave jmads the shovel talk and if it was anything like the one they gave tjeffs they probably scared him half to death and permanently scarred him so_   
_Alexander Hamilton: You might want to check up on him and then scream at our friends_

Alex doesn’t know why, but his heart is beating too loud in his ears and his breathing isn’t right. And it’s only a text. Well, two. But it’s no big deal. He wants to mend their burned bridges. He takes a deep breath.

This is nothing to worry about.

But he stops breathing when his phone rings, practically diving across the couch to reach it. He frowns when he sees the caller ID.

Alex takes a deep breath as he presses accept. “Hello, dear,” he says as loftily as possible without letting the discomfort leak into his voice.

There’s a giggle from the other end of the line. “Daddy,” a young voice asks, “why are you calling me dear?”

Alex’s demeanor instantly changes, and he can’t help the smile that splits across his face, the way he pauses the television and holds his phone like it’s now the most precious object in the world.

“Ellie, baby!” he exclaims, cooing just a little. “I thought you were your mother. How’s my little girl doing?”

She giggles again. “Good, but I miss you! Mama’s been busy with Aunty Angie a lot, and Mari isn’t as fun to play with. She doesn’t do Legos good!”

Alex bristles at the way his youngest daughter so easily nicknames Maria, but he makes sure Ellie can’t tell. He keeps the smile glued on his face, even though it’s forced now. “Oh, is that right? Well, you know, when you come over this weekend, we can play all the Legos you want!”

Ellie squeals, and Alex flinches at how high the sound is over the phone.

“Also, baby, a friend is going to join us for dinner Friday night! Is that okay with you?” He can imagine her nodding her head eagerly up and down.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah!” she answers excitedly. “Is it your boyfriend?” she sing-songs, and Alex rolls his eyes. “Angel said you got a _boyfriend.”_

“Yeah, baby, it is,” he chuckles.

“Does he play Legos, too?” she wonders, and Alex can’t help thinking she only seems to have one volume level. Loud.

“I don’t know, baby, but I’m sure you can teach him.”

“Yay! Is he nice?”

“He’s very nice, you’ll love him,” he says with a smile. _I think I might._ He doesn’t say that.

“Elle,” he hears someone interrupt on the other end of the line, and there’s a muffled exchange before Ellie’s shouting, “Bye, Daddy! I love you!” and someone else takes the phone.

“Hello, Alexander,” Maria says smoothly, and Alex could swear it still sounds like she’s trying to get into his bed. Or his (ex-)wife’s. It was both, apparently.

“Ms. Maria Reynolds.” His voice is cold. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Well, you see, I know you’re not always that . . . on top of things. What was that excuse you always used? Or, the excuse you always had me pass on to our darling Eliza when you forgot a family matter. ‘It’s not that I forgot, I just didn’t plan for it?’”

“Well, hate the sin, love the sinner,” he grits out.

She sounds far too smug. “Ah, I see that rung a bell.”

“Your point, Maria.”

“Liza and I wanted to make sure you didn’t forget the kids are yours this weekend. We have a little romantic getaway planned upstate,” she reveals. “Couldn’t have your . . . absentmindedness getting in the way, could we?”

“Mm, always ahead of the game,” he says. “And yes, I am aware _my_ kids will be spending the weekend with me. Thank you for the heads up, Maria.”

“Of course, Alexander.” He hates the way his name sounds when she rolls it around on her tongue. “I do love talking to you. If I remember correctly, you used to love talking to me, too.”

“Goodbye, Maria.”

He hangs up.


End file.
